The Return of Hochstetter!
by 80sarcades
Summary: The sequel to Hochstetter Strikes Back! This time, our kidnapped heroine...er, hero...finds himself trapped in 1943 Germany!  Will he be able to defeat the Major once and for all and find the way home?  Or will his wife collect on the life insurance?
1. It Begins

**_The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)_**  
><strong><em>by 80sarcades<em>**

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><p><em>This is the sequel to Hochstetter Strikes Back. This is also a work of silly humor with a loose plot. If you're looking for a serious work of fiction involving character angst, then please look elsewhere. On the other hand, if you enjoy Hogan's Heroes fan fiction with scenes involving kidnapped authors, rampaging Looney Toons characters, riots, irritated U.S. Presidents, special guest appearances, dramatic courtroom lines, and roving mobs…then you're in the right place!<em>

_SPECIAL NOTICE: All Hogan's Heroes fanfic readers & writers are invited to participate (via screen names) in a future chapter(s). In addition, a few of those will be given limited one to two line speaking parts. Further details will be revealed in a later chapter. Also, thanks go to **Sgt. Moffitt** for lending me her screen name._

_Disclaimer: This is only a labor of love. For money, I'll have to look elsewhere._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 1: It Begins.<strong>_

_At last, he would have his revenge._

_The man admitted that he had underestimated his enemy. The memories of those past failures haunted his memory, teasing him with the victory that could have - should have - been. __Tonight, however, he would turn the tables on his foe. Tonight, he would be the victorious hunter instead of the outclassed prey._

_Tonight..._

_All was in readiness. Once the trap was sprung, he would return and hunt down that cunning creature that dared to defy him. His triumph would prove once and for all that Wolfgang Hochstetter was the better man. No one, the Gestapo Major reflected, ever got the better of him._

_No one!_

_A cruel smile twisted Hochstetter's face even as more evil clichés stumbled through his brain. He peeked though the window and saw his target sprawled on the couch. Soon, he thought, soon, you will taste defeat. You will know what it is like to lose..._

_And then, the fate of Papa Bear will be truly in my hands. The German moved away from the glass and checked his watch. 7:26 PM. Almost there. Four more minutes._

_Suddenly, light flooded his senses as an overhead bulb flared into life. Hochstetter cursed silently as he scrambled for the safety of the nearby shadows. Fortunately, he made it without being seen. A figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in black against the interior light. Somehow, the Major resisted the impulse to draw his sidearm and shoot the man; that would have ruined the fun, as it were._

_The porch descended into darkness; the door closed. After a moment, Hochstetter moved to the window again. It was time. He rubbed his hands in glee as the target finally vanished from sight._

_And now the hunt begins, 80sarcades, he thought savagely. And now, the hunt begins..._

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><p><em>Next up: Chapter 2 - Another weekend gone to hell…<em>


	2. Another weekend gone to hell

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III) **_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p><em>Welcome back! I'd like to take this opportunity to thank EVERYONE who nominated andor voted for my stories for the Papa Bear Awards! Although I've written fanfiction for years (off and on), this is the first time I ever received an award for doing so. While I'm at it, I'd also like to congratulate the people running the PBA's; their tireless efforts deserve at least a medal. And then some! _

_SPECIAL NOTICE: All Hogan's Heroes fanfic readers & writers are invited to participate (via screen names) in a future chapter. In addition, a few of those names will be given limited one to two line speaking parts. Further details will be revealed in a later chapter._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 2: Another weekend gone to Hell…<strong>_

It was a dark and stormy night...

_Hmmm..._I mused. _So let's see, why would Hochstetter be out on a dark and stormy night? Answer: he's in hot pursuit of Hogan and company when a sudden storm blows up. The Major gets hit by one...nah, five or so lighting strikes and gets transformed into a nice guy..._

_Nah, better trash that one_, I decided. _Nobody would believe it! Okay, he somehow gets transformed into a woman...no, that won't work either, _I angrily thought_. First, a mustache on a woman is just plain wrong! Secondly, that's probably about as close as he'll ever get to one..._

_Well, damn! I guess I'll sleep on it tonight. The ballgame is on in a few minutes anyway._

Five minutes later, and popcorn in hand, I settled myself on the couch to watch the Houston Astros play the Chicago Cubs. The game had been going on for a little while when I heard a noise outside the house. A quick flick of the porch light switch revealed nothing. _It was probably just some cat_, I decided.

Probably.

Still, I had the unsettling feeling of being watched. It wasn't something that I could explain; I just _knew_ somehow. At first, I thought that I was just being paranoid - growing your own 'medicinal' marijuana does that to you - but lately I had begun to wonder about Major Hochstetter. Twice before, he had come to my world; twice before, I had defeated him only by the skin of my teeth.

But what if the third time was the charm?

I sighed, then wondered why I was worrying. The house was locked down tight. My wife and kids were with my in-laws this weekend, so I was alone. To be honest, I had no real plans this weekend other than to rest. Although I loved my kids, my job as a nuclear weapons specialist was demanding enough without adding lack of sleep to the list.

The couch was invitingly soft to my weary body. I laid back and watched one of the Cubs come to bat with the bases loaded. As usual, I booed; the pitcher made his throw...

...and suddenly, the couch cushions _vanished _beneath me. Somehow I managed to grab the couch frame long enough to see the Cubs batter hit a home run to left field. Even as I cursed the pitcher, my fingertips tried to hold on to the narrow surface. However, it was in vain; my grip finally slipped away.

I fell into nothingness.

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><p>I was losing my mind.<p>

Night had turned into day. My living room was now woods and forest. And as for my clothes...

_Class A's! Old Army Class A's! _

Captain's bars gleamed on my shoulders. Numerous ribbons littered my left chest...

_...ranging from the 'I was a good boy and didn't get the clap' medal all the way to the 'got dinged?' Purple Heart. Not to mention the Silver Star..._

_Okay, what's going on?_

It could have been worse, I thought. The last time this happened was when I tried to hook up with the lady in that bar. How was I to know that she was going out with the local thug? Or that his goons would dump me naked in the country?

And if that wasn't bad enough, those two hunters found me while I was still unconscious! So what did they do? They hung me from a tree branch, tied a game tag to me, and then posed for photos! The nerve of some people! And then my wife got one of the photos as a wedding present and started calling me her white-assed buck...

A nearby noise caught my attention. The sound of a car - or cars, I decided - echoed through the woods. Off to my left, I could dimly see a roadway through the trees. Obviously, I wasn't that far from some kind of civilization.

I was just about to head for the road when the vehicles came into view. A car, followed by two trucks, squealed their way to a stop before they started disgorging figures. It was hard enough to make out the details, but what I saw put my teeth on edge.

_No, it can't be..._

As I ducked down, my suspicions were confirmed. I could hear a distant voice issuing orders; my blood ran cold.

_Hochstetter!_

"Search this entire area," his raspy voice commanded, obviously addressing the soldiers with him. "Remember, I want him alive and unhurt…"

This just keeps getting better and better, I silently groused. He has troops. SS troops, I think. That also means, I belatedly realized, that I'm in wartime Germany! Just what else could happen?

"...in time for his execution!" the Gestapo Major finished. A few more snarled commands hurried the troops along before they started their search.

I decided not to stick around any longer. Old escape and evasion procedures came to mind as I looked for a way out of the trap. Fortunately, the tactics were easy to recall; I had used them numerous times to duck out of chores and work projects.

With the sun to my east - and the enemy to the north - I quietly started moving in an east-southeast direction away from the road. With any luck, I would bypass Hochstetter's goons and escape while they searched the woods around me.

That was the easy part, unfortunately. The hard part would be to keep out of the Major's clutches in Nazi Germany. Especially since I wore a uniform that practically screamed 'shoot me!'

But I had to try.

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><p>Two hours later, I was totally exhausted.<p>

My uniform was dirty and ripped; I was the epitome of hot and thirsty. I also had no idea where I was going. On the other hand, if I was caught I would be shot.

_How could it get any worse?_

I froze as I heard a metallic click to my right. Without moving, I cut my eyes in that direction. To my horror, I saw the dark muzzles of a double-barreled shotgun pointed at my head.

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><p><em>Next: Chapter 3 - The Other Side of the Shotgun.<em>


	3. The Other End of the Shotgun

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: Would it really stop a lawyer?<em>

_From the last chapter:_

_I froze as I heard a metallic click to my right. Without moving, I cut my eyes in that direction. To my horror, I saw the dark muzzles of a double-barreled shotgun pointed at my head._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 3: The Other End of the Shotgun:<strong>_

I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable blast. Strangely, my mind was at peace before a gravelly voice interrupted.

"Reach for the skies, you wrascally wabbit!" it commanded.

_Huh? _

I cautiously opened my eyes to see Elmer Fudd standing there, a determined look on his face.

"Wabbit?" I croaked, my anger growing. "Wabbit? Do I look like a 'wabbit' to you?" my voice yelled. "I might have big ears, but I don't have rabbit ones!"

Elmer lowered the shotgun, an embarrassed look on his face. "Uh, no," he mumbled. "Sorry..."

"And what's with that line, anyway?" I challenged. "You say that in most every picture! What's wrong with shooting first and asking questions later?"

"Listen, Mister, I said I was sorry!" the cartoon character yelled. "I never win in these pictures! I really thought I had the drop on him this time!"

I didn't have to ask who 'him' was. Unfortunately, there were no rabbits in sight. Wisecracking or otherwise.

"Great, just great." I moaned. "That's irony for you: we're in Germany and I nearly get killed by an American! Man, Hochstettter would love you..."

"Excuse me, Mister," Elmer said, his face paling, "Where did you say we were again?"

"Germany, obviously. Where did you think you were?"

"I really didn't know," Fudd said, both alarmed and confused. "I was following Bugs...then I took that left turn at Albuquerque..."

"Y'all have really got to get better maps…" I muttered, slapping my head. Just then, a slow smile appeared on my face as a new plan came to mind. Hare-brained or not, it might work. All I had to do was pull the right levers...

"You know," I began, "you could be doing something better for the war effort than chasing after Bugs Bunny."

"The Army said that I was already doing essential work," Elmer complained. "Besides, they said that my feet were flat. And there's also the little matter of my contract with Mr. Warner..."

"Warner, scharmner," I scoffed. "Go out, get a good lawyer, and then change it to your terms. You might not be as big as Bugs, true, but you're a star. Flat feet or not."

"Well, yeah," he exclaimed, looking pleased. "I guess I am!"

"And right now, you can do Uncle Sam a lot of good," I went on. "I need your help, and I need it bad!"

"But what can I do?" he asked.

_And here goes the bait..._

"I'll level with you," I said. "There's a bunch of SS guys out there looking for me. If they catch me, I'll be put on trial and then shot."

"Oh, that's awful!" Elmer said, looking sad.

"I need to escape. That's where you come in."

He looked doubtful as he looked me over. "I'm not sure I can fit you in the tunnel," he began. "Only cartoon characters can do that…"

"Never mind about that," I said dismissively. "What I need for you to do is to slow the bad guys down. Can you do that?"

"I don't know," Elmer said. "I'm just one guy..."

"One guy with a gun," I countered, my voice turning forceful. "This is better than hunting just one rabbit! There's a whole forest full of SS types out there, and hunting season has just started..."

The hunter's eyes lit up at the mention of the words 'hunting season.' _Yup, he's on the hook now..._

"I need someone to stand up to the plate and be counted as an American!" I intoned, looking him in the eye. "I need a cartoon character with a shotgun to come forth and fight for the ideals of Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of women! Do YOU know where I can find such a man, Elmer?" I demanded, pointing at him.

Tears glistened in the other man's eyes. As he started to speak, my right hand came up.

"America is calling, Elmer," I said formally, holding out a mock receiver. "Will you accept the charges?" Okay, I admit it sound hokey on the Simpsons. However, for a simple cartoon character...

"I'll do it," Fudd said firmly, a look of determination. He held up the shotgun, ready to go; I held up my hand again.

"Oh, don't forget the best part," I said casually. "Since America's at war with Germany, there's no bag limit on the SS you shoot. Just thought you should know."

Elmer's smile turned predatory. Without another word, he disappeared into the forest. A few moments later, I heard the sound of shotgun blasts followed up by automatic weapons fire. Obviously, a cartoon character was at work.

As for me, it was time to get gone.

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><p>Fortunately, I was able to put some distance between myself and the ongoing battle. Now all I had to do was to figure out what to do next.<p>

The forest itself was calm and peaceful. However, that peace ended when I saw the outline of straight wood and towers through the trees. The sounds of cheering wafted around me as I crept closer. The wood turned out to be part of a fence; the tower part of a series of guard towers. A well-used road ran in front of the structure. The sign on the main gate, however, was my second major piece of luck:

STALAG LUFT XIII

But how do I get in? I wondered. I had no idea where the hidden tree stump was. Moreover, I had no desire to be shot while trying to find it. Additionally, the longer I waited the better the chance Hochstetter and his goons would find me. In the end, there was only one real choice. A simple rule that I had learned a long time ago:

_When in doubt, attack!_

The woods were left behind as I calmly walked across the road. As I approached the front gate, I noted that there was some sort of game going on; the guards were naturally watching the prisoners. My hand knocked on the wood frame of the gate, making it vibrate noisily.

No reaction. I knocked again, using my knuckles. Still, no one noticed.

_Just how the hell do you surrender to a prison camp?_

Suddenly, an idea formed. I put my fingers up to my mouth and whistled. This time, I attracted attention from both the prisoners and the guards. One of the former ducked inside the barracks - presumably to get Colonel Hogan - as the latter opened the gate.

Sergeant Schultz, who had been standing nearby, hurried over to the entrance. The Luftwaffe Sergeant leveled his rifle at my chest. The other guards followed his lead and casually pointed their weapons in my direction. I smiled as I put my hands above my head. Things were starting to look up.

"Hi, Schultz," I said. Schultz, true to form, wasn't listening.

"Keep your hands UP!" he growled, trying to look menacing. "You..." A look of confusion passed over his face as my words caught up to his brain. "How did you know my name was Schultz?" he asked, his bluster gone.

"Well, that's simple," I said. "You look like a Schultz. Besides which, you're just the kind of guard I want to be captured by!"

Oddly, Schultz looked like he wanted to dance. "And why is that?" he asked, pleased with himself.

"Well, for starters, you don't have any bullets in your rifle," I said, watching his jaw drop. "I make it a personal policy never to face anyone with an loaded rifle, you know..."

Just then, Hogan - followed by Kommandant Klink - walked up to the gate. There's always something about Klink, you know: no matter how angry he looks, I can still easily picture him in a dress. Then again, maybe not. I mean, does the world really need a bald woman with a monocle?

"REPOOOOOORT!" Klink sounded off. Everyone within earshot winced.

"I captured this escaped prisoner, Herr Kommandant," Schultz proudly announced.

"With an unloaded rifle, too," I pointed out. Schultz was unruffled.

"He was trying to escape!" he said forcefully.

"Actually, I was trying to get in," I countered. "I have a reservation for a bunk, preferably upwind of the mess hall..."

"SILENCE," thundered Klink. Hogan, as usual, ignored him.

"Oh, come on, Kommandant," he argued. "I protest! The man just got here, and already you're threatening him. You could show him a little mercy. Besides which, what if he gives us a bad review? That'd be on your head, Kommandant!" he threatened.

"Yeah, that's true," I said, picking up where the Colonel left off. "Those reviews go everywhere, you know. Pretty soon, you'll have only one star in the Michelin guide, and then where would you be?" _Not that this place isn't a dump already..._

Klink slowly shook his head. "Hogan, Hogan, Hogan," he said dismissively. "You must think I'm the world's biggest idiot."

"That's not true, sir!" Hogan defended himself. "I'm sure there are much bigger idiots out there! Look at that guy in Berlin...what's his name.." He snapped his fingers, pretending to have trouble remembering. "Nister, Sister..."

"Hitler," Schultz remarked, chuckling. The Colonel snapped his fingers again.

"That's it," he said forcefully. "Get rid of him, and you'll have a really good shot at the world title..."

"Enough!" the Kommandant interrupted, glaring at Hogan. "Schultz, bring the prisoner to my office," he ordered.

"Which one?" Schultz asked, confused.

"BOTH OF THEM!" Klink shouted. Without another word, he turned and strutted off. As we followed behind, I looked at the American Colonel.

"You don't think he's ticked off, do you?" I asked. Hogan merely grinned.

"If you were running the camp and had a bald head, wouldn't you be in a bad mood?" he replied.

The man had a point.

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><p><em>Next: Chapter 4 - Klink's Office.<em>

_All reviews, of course, are very appreciated. Thanks for reading!_


	4. Klink's Office

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: I have nothing to say (other than to thank people for reading and reviewing this, of course:-) Stay tuned for the ad in the next chapter!<em>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 4: Klink's Office<strong>_

Klink's office was just as spartan as it was in the series. On the other hand, the bottle of liquor stashed in the far corner made my mouth water. No time for that now.

The Kommandant, of course, made himself at home behind his desk while Hogan and I stood in front of it. He eyed me with his monocle.

"Now, I want to know where you came from," he demanded. "What airbase? Talk!"

I had to come up with something; in the end, the old name, rank, and serial number stood out. With a slight modification, of course.

"Vader, Darth," I told him. "Captain, United States Army Air Forces. 04045704." Hogan looked at me curiously, but said nothing.

"None of that!" Klink thundered; his expression then changed. "What kind of name is Darth Vader?" he asked, curious.

"Norwegian," I lied. "My dad's side. You wouldn't believe the teasing I got for it in school..."

"Uh-huh," the Kommandant said, nodding. "And is that where, perhaps, you were heading?" he challenged, looking smug. "Perhaps to do a little spy mission, by chance, and got lost?

"Oh, heck no," I said, meeting his eye. "I might have been lost for a while, but-"

"Aha!" Klink interrupted. "So you admit that you were spying!"

"I never said that!" I yelled, my anger growing. "I said I was lost, you bleep bleeping bleep!

My last three words came out as high-pitched tones. It was as if someone, somewhere, had replaced the words with the noise. But why? Klink looked around wildly for the source of the sound. Hogan, true to form, knew.

"This is a television show from the 1960's," Hogan muttered. "The networks won't let you curse on-air." I nodded in understanding, though it helped my temper little.

"Well, bleep!" I said disgustedly. "You've gotta be kidding me," I demanded of the Colonel. "I can't say bleep, bleep, or bleep? Or even bleep you?"

"You've got it," said Hogan cheerfully.

"Oh, this is just great," I moaned, "First, I get stuck in this universe, and I can't even curse properly! What could be worse?"

"Burkhalter's sister could fall in love with you," the American Colonel offered. I shivered. So, I noticed, did Klink.

"Now there's a reason to volunteer for the Russian Front..."

"Excuse me, Gentlemen," Klink said, annoyed at being ignored. "You may have forgotten our little interrogation..."

"Oh," I said. "Right. Look, Colonel," I began. "I'm not going to tell you anything. Where I'm from, that's called giving aid and comfort to the enemy. The Boy Scouts would kick me out; I wouldn't be a Scout Leader any more. Not to mention that I'd probably lose my executive position in the Porn Association of America!" I finished, my voice turning forceful before softening a tad. "Well, maybe not them," I allowed. "However, it's a sure bet I won't get any more free samples!"

"The Porn Association of America," Klink scoffed. "You Americans and your lies! And next you're going to tell me that Hanna Leitich was a founding member!"

Strangely, the name rang a bell in my mind. "Actually, she's in our Hall of Fame, you know," I explained. "I think she used to give burlesque lessons in her old age-"

"Enough!" Klink roared, leaping to his feet. "I want some answers, and I want them now!"

"Come on, Kommandant," Hogan interjected in his usual calm voice. "He surrendered peacefully. Under the Geneva Convention, all he has to do is give you his name, rank and serial number. I'm sure he could tell you his home address, if you like."

I quickly nodded. "Sure, I can do that!" I exclaimed. "My address is 742 Evergreen Terrace. That's in Springfield...Springfield..." I snapped my fingers as I 'pretended' to remember and failed. I looked at Hogan. "Dang it, I can't remember the state!" I exclaimed.

"Could be Missouri," Hogan said. "I had a girlfriend there."

"Nah, not that one," I said. "It's probably Oregon. If I could just remember..."

"Kentucky?" I shook my head no, then snapped my fingers again. "Illinois! No, too far north..."

"How about Virginia?" Klink offered. I mulled it over, then nodded.

"That might be it!" I said. The Kommandant grinned, obviously proud of himself. Too bad for him. "Hey, Colonel Hogan," I said casually, "here's a sixty-four dollar question for you: what question would distract a camp Kommandant from asking stupid questions?"

"Oh, that's easy," Klink excitedly interrupted, head bobbing up and down. "You just ask for the prisoner's home address..."

By that time, his brain had caught up to what his mouth was saying. A furious scrowl crossed his features as his right fist shook the air.

"HOOOOGAN!" he yelled, glaring at the American officer.

Hogan shrugged. "What can I say?" he casually remarked, a smug smile on his lips. "I'm a natural."

The Kommandant, meanwhile, was furious. "Enough of this!" he blurted. "I want to know what airbase you came from! Talk, or there will be consequences!"

_Did Klink just make a threat?_ I wondered. Just then, another thought occurred to me.

_Well, why not? I thought. I might as well go for broke anyway..._

I waved my hand in front of me. "You don't need to know what airbase I came from," I said in a monotone. Thankfully, I was rewarded by a blank look from Klink's eyes

"I don't need to know what airbase you came from," he repeated. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Hogan's jaw drop.

_All right! Now then..._

"You can go about your business..." I said, still in the same calm voice.

"You can go about your business..." Klink repeated.

"Move along, move along..." I finished.

"Move along, move along...to the cooler!" Klink yelled, his eyes flashing angrily as a hand pointed to the office door. "Schultz!" he screamed.

Guess Klink isn't weak minded after all! Maybe I should try the Force grip...

I was just about to give it a go when the aerobically challenged Luftwaffe Sergeant barged through the office door. Dangit! Too many witnesses!

"Schultz, take this prisoner to the cooler," Klink ordered before he turned to me. "Maybe a few days in solitary will jog your memory. Dis-missssed!"

I, of course, had no intentions of going quietly. Suddenly, another idea occurred to me. I looked at Hogan, a smile on my lips.

"Hey, Colonel, you remember the Wizard of Oz?" I asked. He nodded; apparently, the same idea had occurred to him too. With a slight modification, of course.

I smiled at the Kommandant before joining arms with Hogan. Together, we broke out in song as we happily sang, duet style:

_We-eere off to see the cooler, the wonderful wonderful cooler! Because, Because, Because, Because, the Kommandant decided to send us-sss..._

As we skipped around the room before heading out the door, Klink slumped back in his chair and put his head in his hands.

_Why me? _he asked.

Then he walked to the liquor bottle and poured himself a stiff drink. And then another.

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><p>The cooler actually wasn't that bad. Ok, so the bed was lousy. There was no air conditioning. Plus, there was no TV. It still beat my last vacation hotel, however.<p>

Hopefully, with Hogan's help, I'll be able to get out of here and back home before Hochstetter found me. After all, I was at Stalag 13; the good guys always win here! That thought comforted me as I dozed off on the hard bunk.

After all, what else could go wrong?

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><p><em>Next: Chapter 5 - The Real World, and a Call to Arms.<em>

_All reviews are gratefully appreciated - thanks for reading!_


	5. The Real World, and A Call To Arms

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p><em>AN: This is a short chapter. First, I'd like to give a big **THANK YOU** to everyone who has read and/or reviewed this story so far. Its been a great ride…and we haven't even gotten to Hochstetter yet! That's the next chapter:-) My schedule, unfortunately, won't allow me to post the next installment until Wednesday. Sorry! Many thanks again to **Sgt. Moffitt** for letting me use her screen name, as always!_

_To the reviewer **Odd Duck:** Yes, you are correct. I **am** off my meds. It makes the colors **SO** much more enjoyable. As well as my driving:-)_

_Disclaimer: I'm too busy skipping down the Yellow Brick road to give one._

**_From the last chapter:_**

_Hopefully, with Hogan's help, I'll be able to get out of here and back home before Hochstetter found me. After all, I was at Stalag 13; the good guys always win here! That thought comforted me as I dozed off on the hard bunk._

_After all, what else could go wrong?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 5, Part A - The Real World, and a Call to Arms<strong>_

**Meanwhile, in the real world...**

Sgt. Moffitt was tired. And then some.

_And to think I gave up defusing IED's for this!_ she thought angrily. _I should have just stayed in the Army instead of teaching high school. But no, I wanted to do something with my life!_

_I wonder if I can reenlist..._

Moffitt laid her keys, purse, and sidearm on the table. The body armor was next. Thankfully, today was Friday; she wouldn't have to see that part of her outfit until Monday. Her eyes traveled to the flat screen in the den.

_Perfect, she thought. A drink and a Hogan's Heroes DVD. What could be better?_

Moffitt threw a Season 4 DVD into the player and fixed herself a scotch and soda. The familiar sounds of beating drums came to her ears as the title menu came up. Without looking, she pressed PLAY on the remote and settled herself on the nearby couch. As the theme music started, she took a long drink...

...only to spit it back out when she saw the opening screen.

_Hochstetter's Heroes! What is this?_

She quickly rewound the DVD to the beginning of the episode. Same music. Different titles. Another DVD - and then another - produced the same result.

_Hochstetter gets top billing? The Heroes are described as Allied scum?_

_And the entire episode follows Hochstetter? Outrageous!_

_And I know who's responsible for it!_

Moffitt sent a few quick emails and PM's to other members of FFdotnet. It didn't take long to discover the truth.

_All of their DVD's are affected too! That 80sarcades and his damned laptop_, she flared angrily. _I warned him something like this could happen, but did he listen? No, of course not!_

Moffitt considered sending the man a PM - after all, it could have been a simple mistake - but decided against it. It was his responsibility; this time, he would pay! Instead, she began to fire off messages to other members of FFdotnet, who would contact others.

In hindsight, Moffitt had no idea of the firestorm that was about to be unleashed. But then again, 80sarcades had been warned, hadn't he? What happened next was on his head. No one, but NO ONE, messed with her DVD's!

A quick trip to the gun cabinet produced an AR-15 with several extra clips; a duffel bag joined the reclaimed body armor.

Moffitt was going to war.

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><p><em>AN: An IED is an improvised explosive device. Nasty piece of work. And as for what happens next…lets just say I'm in for a big surprise later on when a mob visits me. Read the ad; I'm trying to make this a group effort:_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 5, Part B:<strong>_

_**Are YOU looking for some excitement  
><strong>__**but can't be bothered to get off the couch?**_

_**Then join Hogan's Virtual Mob! (tm)**_

_**Now YOU can take part in the fast-paced world of mob rule straight from the comfort of your own home! This demanding and tireless job offers:**_

_**NO pay!**_  
><em><strong>NO benefits!<strong>_  
><em><strong>NO insurance!<strong>_

_**However, you'll bask in the satisfaction of a job well done! (*)**_

_**So what do you need to do to sign up, you ask? Well, it's simple!**_

_**To join, you must meet the following requirements:**_

_**(1) You must be breathing (no zombies allowed).  
><strong>__**(2) You must be a Hogan's Heroes reader AND/OR author.  
><strong>__**(3) You must have a Ffdotnet screen name (no real names allowed).**_

_**If you qualify, send a PM to my screen name (80sarcades) and YOUR screen name will be listed in one of the two mob group scenes in later chapters. In addition, limited speaking parts (1-2 lines) will be assigned to selected names (first come, first serve). These lines are not derogatory (except, perhaps, to me:-) and are in keeping with the general mayhem of the story.**_

_**Remember…it's not only a JOB…it's your DUTY!**_

_**The Heroes are counting on YOU!**_

_**JOIN TODAY!**_

_**(*) Side effects of joining the mob may include, but are not limited to: increased aggression in daily life, spontaneous yelling/chanting at odd times, night terrors, night sweats, night cramps, things that go bump in the night, and dependence on cheap beer. Consult an advisor for the tax implications of stolen property. Consult a psychic. Better yet, consult a lawyer. Not all mob members may be satisfied by the end results.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Next: Chapter 6 - Into The Tunnel<strong>_

_**All reviews are appreciated; thanks for reading!**_


	6. Into The Tunnel

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p>First, THANK YOU to everyone reading andor reviewing. If I missed thanking anyone for a review, consider yourself properly appreciated!

Longer chapter this time. I should have the next one out by Friday morning at the latest and more on the weekend. Sorry for the slow update; we're preparing for inventory at work next week. For the purpose of this story, there is a tunnel exit in the cooler hallway as well as in selected cells.

So far, the following people have responded to the ad in Chapter 5 (in no particular order): **Marie1964, Jinzle, Crystal Rose of Pollux, Bits and Pieces, Justalittlehhfan, Hoganmacgyver, Sophia Villo, El Gringo Loco, Snooky-9093, Canadian Hogan's Fan, and ColHogan.** If anyone else wants to join (or if I left a name off by accident), send a PM to my screen name and I'll add you on. BTW, the first mob scene comes up in chapter 8. It starts off with President Obama watching mob members on TV…and goes downhill from there…

Disclaimer: I'm too tired to write a decent one.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 6: Into The Tunnel<strong>_

Meanwhile, back in 1943...

Surprisingly, it took about an hour before a wall finally opened up outside the cell. A familiar English face poked out of the hole.

_About time!_

"Not to worry," Newkirk said as he crawled out. Strangely, his voice was subdued. Almost angry, even. "I'll have you out of there quick enough..."

"No need," I said. My hand then pulled the cell door open. The look on Newkirk's face was priceless.

"Blimey," he said. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"The county jail has better locks," I explained. "Besides, I used to break into my high school classrooms to steal semester tests." (1)

Despite his silent anger - and where was it coming from, I wondered? - Newkirk chuckled. "I like you already," he said, reluctantly smiling before his expression turned serious. "You won't say anything, will you?" he asked. "I have my reputation, you know."

I nodded. "Your secret is safe with me. I assume I'm wanted somewhere?"

"The Colonel wants to see you," the Englishman explained, his voice turning sour. "We've got about four hours before the next guards come on, so let's be quick about it."

The tunnel was actually wider than I thought. Newkirk closed off the hidden entrance to the cooler before we walked to the main area. It was cluttered, dingy, and lit up with oil lamps that impossibly showed a lot of grimy detail. Then again, it was almost good as being at home. How many times had I seen this on _Hogan's Heroes?_ And now I was here! Without a camera to take that all-important group shot! Oh, well; can't have everything.

Colonel Hogan was already waiting at the end along with LeBeau, Carter, and Kinchloe. If Newkirk was in a bad mood, then these guys were ominous dark clouds. The Colonel regarded me for a moment before he spoke a single question.

"Does Hochstetter know you're here?" he asked.

Reluctantly, I nodded yes. "He probably thinks I'm still out there in the woods somewhere," I replied. "But he knows. He…" My eyes looked over at the other men.

Hogan followed my eyes. "They know," he said quietly. Well, that certainly does explain things. Honestly, I can't blame them for being ticked off. Finding out that you're a fictional character is bad enough; meeting an author that writes about you is far worse.

"I don't know why you're all worried," I began. "The show you all been on has been out there for forty-five years. People still love it! And the fact they write about you all means you're something special."

Newkirk was unconvinced. "My whole bleedin' life isn't a _show_ or a _story_," he growled. "And you've got the nerve to come in here with Hochstetter looking for you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, that's not my fault!" I said. "I was watching the bleep...sorry, dang baseball game when I was dumped in the woods out there. Besides which, I actually envy you, you know," I continued. "You should see all the stories the ladies write about you. But I guess-"

"Hang on," the English Corporal interrupted. "You mean its _women_ on that fan fiction site that write stories about me? Doing what?"

"Well, I can't say. They'd probably beat me up if I told you," I explained. _And this is not the time to get into Mary Sue stories, either; you'd probably beat me up yourself. _Instead, I drew a deep breath before exhaling. "Then again, I'm pretty sure they'd give their bank accounts to meet you in person."

_And if that isn't the understatement of the century, I don't know what is! _

"And it's not just you," my voice went on. "They do it for all of you. They even have a Papa Bear Awards for the best story every year. Just had one recently, as a matter of fact!"

For his part, Newkirk's mood lightened at the news. "Well, what do you know," he said, grinning. "Changes things, especially when a bunch of birds write about you!"

_I should be vaguely annoyed by that, but...nah, I'm not. He's happy, and that's what counts. As for myself, I'm just the good Fanfic tug Testosterone, sailing in the Pacific of Estrogen..:-)_

"What about me?" LeBeau asked, a grin on his face. I didn't disappoint him.

"Well, I really wouldn't know where to start," I confessed. "And do I really have to mention Marya?"

LeBeau swooned at the mention of the Russian woman. "Oh, Marya," he crooned, a dreamy expression on his face. "My love..."

"Thanks a lot, mate," Newkirk groused. "Now he won't shut up!"

"Like the English know what true love is," groused LeBeau playfully.

"He even dreams about her, too," Carter said eagerly as he pushed himself forward. "Why, just the other night-"

The Englishman elbowed his friend in the ribs. "Carter!" he snapped. "Do you really have to encourage him?"

I shook my head at their antics before looking over at the Colonel. "You wouldn't have a way out of here, would you?" I asked innocently. "I know you came to my world before; how about using that?"

Hogan shook his head. "I tried that," he said flatly. "Something's blocking me from going through. And if I can't get through, you can't get home."

"So I'm stuck here," I snorted. "Great. What about General Burkhalter? Have you tried him?"

"He's on leave somewhere. General Kinchmeyer..." he motioned to Kinch, who was watching in silence, "hasn't been able to get a hold of him. We can get you out of here on the sub and to London, if you want," Hogan offered.

"I might have to," I said. Honestly, I didn't want to go. The London of 1943 was a far cry from the modern city I knew. However, as for the alternative…

"Hochstetter somehow got me here," I went on. "He even knew I was coming." Briefly, I explained what had happened up to that point. "And if he traces me here..." I let my voice trail off.

"Colonel," Newkirk interjected, "If Hochstetter did kidnap him, then why not do it again? If he can make a man disappear like that, then it'd be a lot easier than searching through the woods."

Hogan shook his head. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Maybe it doesn't work that way here. At least I've never tried it." A devious smile then crossed his face. "If I could, I'd probably use it to go to Hammelburg. Without walking," he emphasized. All of the men, I noted, agreed on that point. I guess walking to town is bad enough without the added thrill of running into a German patrol along the way.

"That's too bad," LeBeau announced, a forlorn expression on his face, "If it did, we could use it for dates!" Newkirk groaned.

"Louie," he complained, "do you ever _not_ think about women?"

"I'm French!" LeBeau huffed. "What else do you expect? Someone has to set an example in this pigsty!"

"And what if I told Marya?" Newkirk said, playing his trump card.

The short Frenchman puffed up his chest. "She'd never believe you!" he said indignantly, glaring at his friend. "And that's low, even for an Englishman!"

"Why I oughta-" Newkirk began, raising his fist.

"All right, hold it!" Hogan said, raising his voice. Both enlisted men fell silent. It didn't stop them from trading nasty looks at one another.

"Kinch," Hogan ordered, "radio London and tell them we need a pickup, fastest means possible." The Colonel's second-in-command nodded and took his place at the nearby radio.

As Kinch waited for the set to warm up, I walked over to where he was sitting. No matter the circumstances, I wasn't going to pass this up.

"Sergeant Kinchloe?"

He looked up at me. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Listen," I began, "I just wanted to say that I think you're one of the coolest underrated characters on the show. I mean, sure, Hogan comes up with the plans, Newkirk steals-"

"I like to think of it as permanently borrowing, thank you very much," the Englishman interrupted. I ignored him.

"LeBeau's a great cook. My daughter loves him-"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Frenchman triumphantly grin.

"-but she has this thing for Newkirk now-"

Now it was the English Corporal's turn to smile. LeBeau stuck his tongue out at him.

"-and as for Carter-"

Suddenly, I _jumped_ as a large flaming arrow thudded into the post next to me. As one, we all turned and found the culprit standing near the far wall with a sheepish grin on his face. Not to mention the bow he held.

"Sorry," the Sergeant said, embarrassed. "Just wanted to show off my bow and arrow. You know, if we were out in the country I could really shoot this a long way-"

"CARTER!" everyone groaned, myself included. As his cheeks blushed bright red, an idea occurred to me.

"Hey, look at the bright side, Carter," I explained, yanking the arrow out of the post and holding it up. "I've been flamed! And I'm not even halfway through the story yet!"

All of the men - with the exception of Hogan - gave me blank looks. Their commander, meanwhile, was trying hard not to laugh; obviously he knew what it was from coming to my world. _I'll have to ask him about that sometime…_

"You sure you're all right?" ventured Newkirk cautiously, obviously wondering if I was bonkers. I nodded as I dropped the still-burning arrow to the floor before stomping it out with my shoe.

"I'd feel better if I had a beer," I joked.

"Can't help you there, mate," he said in all seriousness. "Nearest one's in Hammelburg."

I groaned. Loudly.

* * *

><p>London, thankfully, replied to Hogan's request pretty quickly.<p>

_"Not a problem, old chap," _the English voice said cheerfully. _"We'll have the sub ready to pick him up tomorrow night. You said he was an American civilian?"_

"That's right," Hogan confirmed.

_"Oh, good," _the guy, whoever he was, said. _"By the way, good show with that chap of yours near Hammelburg. I understand he's putting on quite a show for Jerry, eh?"_

Hogan gave a puzzled look at the receiver. He wasn't the only one. "Say again, London," he called. "Who are you talking about?"

_"Sorry," _the voice apologized. _"I assumed he was one of yours. Being American and all. Seems we've intercepted some messages from there claiming that one man has destroyed two SS battalions all by himself. Jerry's in a bit of a panic; they're tying to bring in some divisions from France to capture him. You didn't know?"_

The Colonel looked at his men; each of them shook their heads. He keyed the mike.

"No," Hogan said. "How do you know he's American, anyway?"

_"Well, we were lucky on that one. Seems the Germans claim he has an American accent and carries, if you can believe it, a shotgun-"_

I stifled a snort. No, it couldn't be...

_"-and apparently, before ambushing the SS he goes, and I quote, 'Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting SS.' Then he laughs. You sure you don't know who he is?"_

At that point, I couldn't hold in my laughter. As Hogan looked at me in confusion, I blurted out:

"Oh, God, it's Elmer Fudd," I chuckled. "Uncle Sam will probably going to give him a medal. That is, if the Warner brothers don't kill him first."

At that moment, Carter rushed into the tunnel area. The panicked look on his face was enough to bring me crashing back to reality.

"Colonel!" he called in a panicked voice. "Hochstetter just pulled up to Klink's office. And he's got SS troops with him!"

Hogan immediately snapped off the power to the radio before he turned to his men. "Everyone back to the barracks!" he ordered, then looked at Newkirk. "Get him back to his cell. I'll head off Hochstetter if necessary. Go!"

Newkirk nodded, his expression grim. "All right, Colonel," he acknowledged. His hand waved, motioning me to follow him back towards the hidden cooler entrance. This time, he shoved the block out quickly before helping me through the hole. Once I was through, he resealed it. The cell door was still unlocked; on a whim, I left it that way.

Fortunately, the new arrivals decided to check in at the office first before coming to the cooler. It also let me briefly hope that I might be able to duck out on what was coming. Unfortunately, it didn't last. Soon enough, I could hear the jingling of keys in the door leading to the cellblock. Booted feet echoed down the corridor before a familiar face appeared. For the third time in my life, I was face to face with Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, Gestapo.

* * *

><p><em>Next: Chapter 7 - Not Again!<em>

_A/N: And so ends another installment! Thank you for reading; reviews, of course, are always appreciated!_

_Story Notes:_

_(1) Not exactly true! I used a key. But that was a very long time ago;-) I've reformed since then. Somewhat._


	7. Not Again!

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p><em>As always, thank you for reading and for your kind reviews. Speaking of which, here's an interesting one:<em>

_"…what's next, songs from Cats or Oklahoma? Tell me it isn't so!"_

_It is, and I shan't disappoint! Credit for the idea behind the 'daydream' bit goes to **Jinzle**. (crowd applauds, gives standing ovation)._

_Unfortunately, I probably won't be able to update until Sunday; I have to cover for a coworker's funeral leave Saturday._

_Disclaimer: I'm using everything only for fun. Honest!_

_From the last chapter:_

_Fortunately, I made it back to my cell in time. Even as I sat on the bunk I could hear the jingling of keys in the door leading to the cellblock. For the third time in my life I was face to face with Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, Gestapo._

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Chapter 7: Not Again!<span>**_

_Got to make sure, though. Let's see…nasty smile, lousy taste in clothing, and that all-important bad breath! Yup, we have a winner!_

"80sarcades," he said smugly, "we meet again." He gestured at the cell bars even as an evil smirk crossed his face. "This time, there will be no escape for you."

Behind him, Klink raised a finger. "Now, Major," he said happily, "I really should remind you that this cooler is escape proof. Remember," he added, "No one has ever escaped from Stalag 13!"

Hochstetter rounded on him with a furious look. "Quiet, Klink," he warned, "or I'll put you in one of your escape-proof cells. And leave you there!" The Kommandant wisely shut up even as I raised my voice.

"You know, you should really do Darth Vader impressions at conventions," I quipped. "Your voice is both intimidating and irritating at the same time. Besides which, you've got that whole basic black thing down anyway; it'd be a shame to let it go to waste..."

"SILENCE," he roared, cutting me off. An utter look of contempt appeared on his face as he looked me over. "You are too dangerous to be left alive," the Major said with finality. "Time and again you have defied the authority of the Gestapo. This time," he added, "will be very different. You will be put on trial as a spy and, after a fair trial, shot as one…."

At that, Klink paled. _Well, what did you expect?_ I thought nastily. _Hochstetter's not here to sing. Hey, wait a minute…_

_[cut to daydream sequence]_

_…and now, Ladies and Gentlemen! Back by popular demand, Wolfgang Hochstetter returns to his Academy Award winning role as Curly from the movie Oklahoma!_

_(Thunderous applause from the audience as Hochstetter, riding a horse, appears and begins to sing:) _

_There's a bright golden haze on the meadow_  
><em>There's a bright golden haze on the meadow.<em>  
><em>The corn is as high as an elephant's eye<em>  
><em>And it looks like it's climbing clear up to the sky.<em>

_Oh, what a beautiful Mornin'_  
><em>Oh, what a beautiful-<em>

_(sound of record screeching. Music stops.)_

_Eh…maybe not._

_[end daydream. Now resuming annoying Gestapo rant]_

…now, what do you have to say about that, hah?" he finished. "And all you had to do was write a little story..."

"...with you as the good guy? Not a chance," I finished. "Besides, go ahead. I'm married! What could you possibly do that's worse than that?"

Hochstetter narrowed his eyes. "You will be taken to the Hammelburg Gestapo office and put in a secure cell..."

"Oh, yeah," I interrupted to his annoyance. "That almost sounds like the honeymoon suite the hotel screwed up. They wound up giving us a small room with no TV...well, a TV with PBS; that's bad enough..."

"...you will be fed substandard meals designed to lower your resistance..."

"Yup. Sounds like my mother-in-law's cooking," I joked. "You know, I love the woman. Especially since we got past the whole arsenic-in-the-dinner-because-I'm-dating-her-daughter thing…"

"...in addition," the Major went on, giving me an irritated look, "…you will be chained to the wall and beaten to ensure your compliance..."

"Hey," I protested. "That's no fair! My love life is off limits, you whacko!"

Hochstetter glared at me before he looked over at Schultz. "Release him," he ordered. The Luftwaffe Sergeant immediately reached for the keys on his belt.

"No need for that, Schultz," I said cheerfully. The Gestapo Major's eyes bugged out as I swung the unlocked cell door open. "I needed a vacation anyway," I told him. "Shall we go?"

"KLINK!" he yelled at the now-shivering Kommandant. "You said that this cell was escape-proof!"

"Well...I mean..." the German Colonel stammered, wilting before Hochstetter's gaze. "...there might have been a problem with the lock..."

"BAH!" Hochstetter growled. He glanced at the nearby SS guards before a gloved finger stabbed towards the cell. "Take him away!" he growled. Before they could react, another new voice popped in.

"I protest! You haven't even said what you're charging him with!" Hochstetter turned to see Colonel Hogan; his cheeks reddened in fury.

"WHAT IS THIS MAN DOING HERE?" he screamed.

"Looking out for the rights of my fellow prisoners, Major," Hogan smoothly said, unruffled by the outburst. "Now what are you charging him with?"

"The Gestapo doesn't need to worry about charges," Hochstetter sneered. "Especially not from saboteurs like you!"

Hogan merely laughed at the angry Gestapo Major. "Are you still going on about that whole underground thing, Major?" he asked calmly. "I thought you knew no one ever escaped from Stalag-"

"STOP SAYING THAT!" Hochstetter yelled. "It sounds worse than when that idiot-" he growled, pointing at Klink, "-says it!"

"You'll also need the permission of the Luftwaffe to take any prisoner out of camp," the American colonel reminded him. "Isn't that right, Kommandant?"

Klink, who had been watching the whole exchange with mounting dread, finally spoke up. "That's right," he nervously said. "I have to have official permission..."

"BAH!" roared Hochstetter again. "Who's running this camp, him or you?" he asked, then reconsidered the question. "No, don't answer that; I don't want to know." He then looked at the SS guards again. "Take him," he ordered again.

"Under the Geneva Convention, I respectfully request that you get permission first before taking a prisoner out of here, Kommandant," Hogan firmly pleaded. At that moment, Klink made up his mind. He looked at Sergeant Schultz.

"Put the prisoner back in his cell," he ordered, his voice firm. "I'll contact Luftwaffe Headquarters and let them make the decision."

"You DARE go against the Gestapo, Klink?" Hochstetter yelled, putting his nose to Klink's. "I'll have your head for this!"

"Begging your pardon, Major," the terrified Kommandant said, "but you're not the one who has to fill out the paperwork..."

The Major gritted his teeth. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something nasty. Then, inexplicably, he changed his mind. "Get your permission, Klink," he growled. "I'll be waiting for it." He then looked at me. "And for you," he smirked.

Instead of cowering in fear at his threat, I merely smiled. "Nice seeing you, Major," I said cheerfully in a exaggerated Southern accent. "Ya'll come again now, you hear?"

Hochstetter glared at me once more before he and his SS entourage left. Klink followed, leaving me, Hogan, and Schultz alone. A worried expression crossed Schultz's face as he locked me back in the cell.

"Do you think the Major will be able to take him out of here, Colonel Hogan?" he asked.

Hogan shook his head. "The important thing is that he tries, Schultz," he explained. "Gives him something to do."

The Sergeant nodded in relief - obviously, he didn't want to hand anyone over to the Gestapo - even as Hogan flicked his eyes to the tunnel entrance. I would probably have a visitor pretty soon.

* * *

><p>It was several hours before Newkirk came to get me. This time, I was taken though the tunnels and up the ladder to Hogan's quarters. The coffeepot, as usual, was already blasting away with the latest gossip from Klink's office.<p>

Apparently, the Luftwaffe (bless 'em!) was reluctant to turn me over for trial without any sort of solid proof. Despite Hochstetter's threats, the Luftwaffe representative essentially told him where he could stick his proposal. Diplomatically, of course.

"So now what?" I asked Hogan.

"We get you out of here as fast as we can," he announced, looking at me. "You escape from your cell and rendezvous with the submarine."

"That'll destroy your no-escape record," I pointed out. "Besides, Hochstetter will tear the camp apart looking for me."

"Not necessarily," he replied. "We've already alerted the underground. They'll make sure you're spotted by the Krauts in Hammelburg. Once that happens, we're off the hook." Hogan grinned. "Besides, you haven't been officially processed as a prisoner, so Klink's safe too."

I shook my head. "You ever thought about being a used car salesman?" I said laughingly. "You'd probably be able to pass off Model T's as early model Ferraris. Even then, people would trust you."

Hochstetter's voice, meanwhile, almost broke the speaker on the coffeepot with his screaming. Suddenly, the loud *bang* of a door slamming caught our attention. We walked out to the main barracks. Newkirk, the lookout, was already standing at the door.

"What's going on, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

"Hochstetter's looks pretty mad, Guv'nor," the English Corporal announced. "Now he's kicking the tires on his staff car...he's moved to the back..." he said, giving the play-by-play. "Ooh! He just knocked the bumper off of the car!"

"Not even a Kraut car deserves that much punishment," muttered LeBeau.

"He's taking something out of the trunk now…" Newkirk said. Suddenly, his face changed as he slammed the door. "Colonel, he's headed for the cooler!"

The other men cleared out of the way as I raced for the ladder. This time, I knew where to go; Newkirk had shown me the tunnel entrance to the cell earlier. Fortunately, Schultz was slow in getting his keys out or otherwise I would have been caught. As it was, I barely got back to my cell in time before Hochstetter showed up.

"Oh, are you here to take my dinner order, Major?" I asked, trying to cover my heavy breathing. "Let's see...I'll have a Big Mac Combo with fries. Don't forget the coke, too. And some Blue Bell ice cream would be nice, if you can swing it. Make mine vanilla, and thanks!"

The Major, surprisingly, said nothing as he laid a briefcase on the floor. He walked out of view for a minute and returned with a wooden chair that was placed in front of my cell. A calm, almost pleased, expression on his face put me on guard even as he sat down.

"The Luftwaffe," he began casually, "has decided not to turn you over to the Gestapo for trial."

"Hey, that's great," I exclaimed. "I guess you and I won't get together after all. Ah, well," I said in mock resignation, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"However," Hochstetter continued, clearly enjoying his role, "you will be turned over to the Gestapo in the morning and held for trial on charges of espionage. The penalty, of course, is death."

I gave him a puzzled stare. "You know, I really think you're starting to lose it, Major," I said. "Didn't you just say-"

"I know what I said," the Major interjected. "Let's just say that things are about to change. Starting with you." He then reached for the briefcase and put on his lap. "I have something to show you."

As he undid the latches to the case, I shook my head. "Man, you have really got to get a life," I told him. "Have you ever thought about putting a personals ad in the local paper? Something along the lines of 'single male, law enforcement, hobbies include torture and wearing basic black?' You never know what kind of woman-"

My voice trailed off as Hochstetter pulled a familiar looking object out of his briefcase. Terror gripped my heart as he looked into my eyes, smiling as he saw the dread that lay therein. All from a simple item.

My laptop.

Anger quickly returned to my veins; just as quickly, I reined it in. No sense in handing over any victories, no matter how small. "What are you doing with my computer, Hochstetter?" I asked coldly. "Give it back now, or I swear I'm going to rip your mustache off and sell it on Ebay!" The German ignored my empty threat as he stared at his prize.

"Such a wonderful device, isn't it?" Hochstetter crooned admiringly as it powered up. His eyes, beady and dark, raised to meet mine. "So far," he said, "I have made some, shall we say, adjustments to things. Nothing major, of course, but that will soon change. Soon, the name of Hogan will be nothing more than a memory. The Third Reich will once more be victorious. But first, I have to deal with you." His hands caressed the keys; I involuntarily shivered at the words they could form.

"So now what?" I demanded. "We've been down this road before. I refuse to write a story, you end up under a large rock. Which actually seems fitting, now that I think about it."

The Major chuckled darkly. "No, I don't think you will be writing any stories tonight," he announced. "However, there is another story that deserves to be written." With that, his fingers started pecking away at the keys.

In desperation, I lunged my arm though the bars hoping to knock the computer out of his grasp. Unfortunately for me, I came up short. A familiar ripple signaled that my body was _changing_. The uniform I wore was now a WAC uniform; my hands were graceful and feminine, and as for my chest...

I looked down at my new appendages. _There's always a bright side to them_, I thought amusedly. _At least I won't have any trouble making tips at Hooters!_

"Enjoy your new outfit," Hochstetter taunted before continuing on in his nasal voice. "Tomorrow, you will be transferred to Gestapo custody before standing trial for your crimes. The evidence, of course, will be overwhelming." He patted the laptop, then started to put it away. "My new toy will see to that."

I slowly shook my head in disbelief as I looked at the ground. "I just can't believe it," I muttered. "I should have..."

"Yes, you should have what?" the Major arrogantly said. "Realized that I would eventually catch up with you? That your fate is now sealed?" He laughed cruelly. "Tell me, what is it like to be helpless? To be a woman again, hah?" he leered sneeringly as he enjoyed his moment of triumph.

The smile I threw back deflated his grin. "Actually, I feel great!" I said smugly before I looked down at my feet again. "But what I was going to say was that these heels just totally clash with my uniform. Honestly, do you even know what color coordination is?" I demanded. "And there's something even worse than that!"

"And that is..." Hochstetter's voice trailed off.

I stared at the briefcase morosely. "I forgot to back up iTunes," I said dejectedly. "Do you know how many movies I have on there? What if-"

"BAH!" Hochstetter screamed, cutting me off. He grabbed the briefcase and stomped out of view. A moment later the echoing bang of a steel door sounded through the hallway. I was now alone.

The shadows from the bars loomed large on my cell floor. Any possible escape I had in mind was cut off when an armed SS enlisted man entered the cellblock. He sat on the chair Hochstetter had vacated and then graced me with a continual dirty look. Obviously, I was going nowhere.

Strangely, the only silver lining in this whole mess was LeBeau. I thought the poor man was going to drop my dinner tray when he saw the strange - and obviously American - woman in the jail cell. The guard wouldn't allow him to talk to me and quickly hustled him out. Even as he did so, I could see the obvious confusion in the Frenchman's eyes as he tried to figure out where the 'other' prisoner had gotten off to.

However, Hogan would know. _And if you've got any tricks up your sleeve, Colonel, now's the time to use them._

In a sense, the Major was right. I was helpless. Hochstetter had the computer. With its special abilities, it could do almost anything here. Or in my world, for that matter.

Then again, just how bad could things get?

* * *

><p><em>Next: Chapter 8 - Mob Rule; Obama's Choice. As always, thanks for reading!<em>


	8. Mob Rule, Obama's Choice

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

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><p><em>As always, thank you for reading and for your kind reviews! Those authors not speaking here (Sophia Villo, El Gringo Loco, and Chopstick Legend) will appear with speaking roles in the last chapter. Thanks again to <strong>Sgt. Moffitt<strong>_ _for her role as Kommandant!_

_Additional note: I'm not expressing any political views of any kind; I'm just simply using the President of the United States as my character. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and talk to the FBI agents at the front door; hopefully, they'll have the same sense of humor!_

_Disclaimer: I have none. I'm shameless, but I'm honest. Any erors are my own._

_From the last chapter:_

_In a sense, the Major was right. I was helpless. Hochstetter had the computer. With its special abilities, it could do almost anything here. Or in my world, for that matter._

_Then again, just how bad could things get?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 8: Mob Rule; Obama's Choice<strong>_

The expression on President Barrack Obama's face turned from solemn to grim as he thumbed his way through the TV channels with the remote. The snippets he saw of each channel were less than encouraging and had been so for days:

_"-All copies of Hogan's Heroes, including the Kommandant's Kollection, have been affected-"_

_"-The riot, which began three days ago, has spread to at least six states and is threatening to engulf-"_

_"Tonight, the Mayor of St. Louis has declared 'open city' status in hopes of avoiding the destruction Chicago has suffered-_

_"-Insurers estimate the total damage by the mob to be in the hundreds of millions of dollars. At this point, Army and National Guard units are only barely able to contain the mounting rampage-"_

_"-Tonight on _HoganMacgyver!_ HoganMacgyver must save the utterly despicable - yet strangely interesting - 80sarcades from certain doom at the hands of Murdoc!"_

The President paused for a moment to watch the scene unfold. A man, strapped down to a table, watched nervously as a laser beam sliced its way towards his body.

_Ripoff!_ Obama angrily thought. _They did this in Goldfinger! Is nothing sacred anymore? _He rolled his eyes heavenward as the program continued.

_"HoganMacgyver!" the man called desperately. "Save me!"_

_"Not to worry, 80's," HM called cheerfully. "I'll get you out of this!" A roll of HoganMacgyver-brand duct tape appeared in her hand. "I'll just tape this watch crystal to the blade of my Swiss Army knife before I tape the knife to the end of this pole," she explained. "Then, I'll move the crystal into the laser beam and angle it so it hits the power supply…"_

_"WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP AND DO IT ALREADY?" 80sarcades screamed. HM lowered the watch crystal into the laser stream…_

_…only to see the beam deflect into 80sarcades' chest. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" he screamed, then died._

_"Oops, sorry about that," HoganMacgyver said, grinning evilly. "I was always bad at angles." Another item caught her attention. "So there's the off switch! I-"_

A finger stabbed at the remote; the channel changed.

_"Welcome to _Mob Cooking with Bits and Pieces!"_ an announcer intoned, then continued. "And now, your host and mob member Bits and Pieces along with her special mob guests Marie1964 and Crystal Rose of Pollux!"_

_The audience cheered._

_"So, ladies," Bits and Pieces began, "I understand you have a revolutionary new cooking device to show us today!"_

_Crystal Rose held up a plain white object in her hand. "We call it the GoSlicer9000™" she explained. She pressed a switch on the side; the audience gasped as a set of stainless steel blades popped out of the housing. "It slices, dices, and also makes short work of renegade authors!"_

_"Plus," Marie added, holding up her own device, "it's compact enough to put into your purse for those extended trips away from home! The GoSlicer9000 comes with a range of attachments and can also be used for self-defense!"_

_"As a special treat," Crystal Rose continued, "we're giving all of the audience members their very own GoSlicer9000 so they can see how wonderful it really is!"_

_The studio audience applauded politely before their new presents were handed out. Bits and Pieces held up her own device and studied it carefully. "This is just so perfect," she gushed. "I can already think of a dozen uses for it…"_

_An upraised hand caught her attention. "You have a question?" she asked._

_"Hi," the audience member began. "My name's Justalittlehhfan, and_ _I had a question about the GoSlicer9000. This would be wonderful to have around in case the Author-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shows up…"_

_The rest of the audience, along with the hosts, visibly shivered at the spoken title._

"…_but really, there's only so much you can do with a knife. For all we know, this guy is some kind of runner or track star. What do I do then?"_

"_That's a wonderful question!" Marie1964 exclaimed. "Fortunately, we've already thought of that. If you move this knob here-" As she did so, a nozzle popped out of the casing "-the flamethrower attachment is ready to use by pressing the red button."_

"_It's perfect for those last minute meals!" Crystal Rose of Pollux continued. "Plus, its thirty foot range will make it easy for you to catch him even if he does run-"_

The remote was raised yet again. This time, a talk show appeared.

_"-we're back with the leaders of the mob." _

Obama paused the channel as _The View_ returned. The enthusiastic applause of the crowd left him feeling jealous.

_I wonder if I could get some of them to come to my speeches?_ he mused silently. As his thoughts returned to reality, Whoopi Goldberg was already beginning to speak.

_"...and here we have Sgt. Moffitt, the leader - or Kommandant, I should say - and best selling author of How to Pillage and Plunder in the Modern Age. Welcome to the show, Sergeant!"_

More applause. The President seriously considered throwing the remote at the TV, but decided against it.

_"Thank you," Sgt. Moffitt shyly replied. _

_"I have to say something," Whoopi went on, "It is so refreshing to see a woman in charge of a mob. Now that's something to tell your daughters about!" The crowd applauded even as the other members of the table nodded in agreement. "But I really have to ask you, Sergeant: who is to blame for all of this? Obviously, someone had to start it all. Who?"_

_"We only know him by his screen name, 80sarcades..." Sgt. Moffitt began._

_The crowd hissed._

_"...Right now, we're trying to find out who and where he is. He's the one to blame for everything. He's the one that changed all of the DVD's! If he hadn't done that then none of this would have ever happened!"_

_"But how did he change the DVD's?" Joy, another of the tablemates, questioned. "Mine were locked up and they were still ruined!"_

_"Does it matter?" Snooky-9093, another member of the mob, replied. "He's on an ego trip! Recently, we held our Papa Bear Awards for the best stories of 2010 and 80sarcades won six awards! He's arrogant, egotistical..." Her voice trailed off, trying to find the right word._

_"You can add overbearing, too," the third leader, Canadian Hogan's Fan, interjected. "I mean, how can one person be such a pain in the butt?"_

_"That, too," Snooky finished, then smiled at CHF. "Thank you!"_

_"The point is," Jinzle, the fourth member, said, "if we don't chop him off at the knees now he'll come gunning for us. Soon, he'll take over the Hogan's Heroes section of Fanfiction dot net, then the world!"_

_At that, Barbara Walters cleared her throat. "It seems hard to believe that one man could deserve such treatment," she asked. "Don't you think that cutting him off at the knees, as you put it, is a little harsh?"_

_"Of course not!" Jinzle said. "But to be fair, I did sharpen my machete first..."_

Obama leveled the pistol at the flatscreen TV and pulled the trigger. The blast killed the picture and left a sparking, smoking ruin hanging on the wall. Satisfied, the President gave the weapon back to the nearby Secret Service agent before turning to the nearby conference table. The Joint Chiefs of Staff stared back at him nervously; it wasn't everyday you saw the President lose his temper, much less take it out on a TV set.

"Gentlemen, our country is facing a crisis not seen since the Civil War," Obama announced. "What are my options?"

General Crane, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, spoke up first. "Sir, our options are few," he stated. "We can't fire on civilians; we're already violating the _Posse Comitatus_ act just to contain them as is." He snorted in disgust. "I recommend that we let the riot burn itself out. To be honest, they're only supporting a show that made the Army look good despite Vietnam."

"You mean, made the Air Force look good," General Dixon, the Air Force Vice Chairman, interjected smugly. "Colonel Hogan was part of the Air Force; even that Stalag 13 camp was run by the Luftwaffe. The Air Force has no desire to take any action against people supporting its own. In that, we agree with the Army."

The four-star Army General glared at the Air Force four-star. The Army and Air Force Chiefs of Staff raised their eyebrows but said nothing. Their Navy and Marine counterparts - Admiral Hovis and General Clary, respectively - recognized a turf war when they saw one. A shared look between the military service chiefs confirmed their feelings:

_We're not getting involved in this!_

"General," Crane said, somewhat sarcastically, "may I remind you that the Air Force was part of the Army until 1947? Hogan was Army; its that simple. Or do you want me to connect the numbers for you?"

"Hogan was Air Force, and that's that!" General Dixon flared. "I can't believe we're having this conversation again! If the Army had been in charge at Stalag 13 they'd still be digging tunnels! Then again, those of us who soar above and beyond can think out of the box, unlike certain Army types."

"Listen, airhead," Crane spat, "anytime you want to take it outside, be my guest!"

"I'll let the older service go first," Dixon said, just as sweetly. Crane narrowed his eyes at the Vice-Chairman for a moment before he erupted.

"All right, that's it," he yelled, leaping to his feet. So did the Air Force General, followed closely by the other officers. "I'm gonna teach you the real meaning of the word _Airborne_-"

"That's enough!" Obama interrupted angrily. At that, all of the officers in the room reluctantly sat down. However, the two senior uniformed officers continued to send visual barbs at one another. "Right now, I need recommendations, not another battle," the Commander-in-Chief chided. "And a way out of this mess…"

The President's voice trailed off as the red phone at the head of the table rang. He walked over to the table, picked the phone up, and listened to the voice on the end of the line before nodding in silent agreement.

"Send him in," he ordered before he put the receiver down. For the first time that afternoon, Obama had a smile on his face as he addressed his military advisers.

"We may have a way out," he began. "Our guest, who'll you'll recognize, may be our best shot at defusing this crisis." Obama smiled again as the door opened. "And here he is now..."

A tall, white haired elderly man stepped into the room. All of the men at the table recognized him instantly. The tension in the room dissipated as the assorted officers greeted the newcomer. Some of them, the President noted darkly, even asked for the man's autograph.

As if he, the President, wasn't important enough!

* * *

><p>Sgt. Moffitt, the official Kommandant of the mob, was both pleased and frustrated.<p>

_Well, that plan didn't work_, she sourly thought. _I would have thought that assembling a mob, announcing our intentions, and then torching a few cars, not to mention a few cities, would have flushed the man out. Instead, everyone's upset._

_And we still have no idea who 80sarcades actually is!_

She took another long drink of Scotch before glancing idly at the nearby TV. The announcer was sobbing about the loss of Wrigley Field in Chicago. Sgt. Moffit merely smiled.

_I bet that's the last time a Chicago Cubs fan trashes the Heroes like that! There are consequences to your actions..._

Just then, the Presidential Seal came into view. A beer bottle flew across the bar as President Barack Obama appeared on screen; it missed the TV entirely and crashed into the mirror behind the set instead.

_"My fellow Americans..."_ the President began.

Another beer bottle hit the side of the TV and bounced away to shatter onto the floor. "Turn it off," a voice yelled. More voices joined in agreement, drowning out the President's words before they became audible once again.

_"...and now I'd like to turn the floor over to Richard Dawson, who you may recognize..."_

"Hey, that's Newkirk," a woman yelled. Cheering filled the room as the word spread outside to the other mob members. They, in turn, raced to the nearest TV sets. Fortunately, the nearby Best Buy, Walmart, and Target offered plenty of flat screens to watch the address on once the crowd smashed the glass doors down.

Meanwhile, inside the bar, the crowd was still estatic. "Turn it up!" a man shouted. "He might have something important to say!" The bartender grabbed the remote and raised the volume. Silence descended on the crowd as Dawson's voice filled the room.

_"...President Obama has asked me to reach out to the mob in hopes of stopping the rampage currently affecting the country," _he said, his tone steady and unwavering._ "He would also like me to ask the leaders of the mob to take a step back from their misplaced violence and think about their actions."_

The assembled crowd, chastened, looked away in shame. However, Dawson's next words shocked them.

_"However, I can't do that."_

Faintly, Obama's indignant voice was heard off screen. _"That's not what we agreed upon..."_

_"This violence is misplaced!"_ Dawson said, cutting him off with a raised voice. _"We need to concentrate on the real culprit! That destroyer of DVD's, 80sarcades! Fortunately, the Government has had his name and address for some time; it should be flashing at the bottom of your screen..."_

The President's voice was heard again, this time furious. _"All right, who leaked that?"_ he shouted. _"And who put it on the screen? Heads are going to roll!"_ Dawson, of course, was only getting warmed up; his voice changed, sounding suspiciously like Winston Churchill's even as he pumped a fist in the air.

_"We must find him wherever he is and beat him!"_ he yelled. _"We must beat him on the beaches. We must beat him in the fields, and in the streets! We shall never, never surrender!"_

Two Secret Service agents grabbed the former actor and attempted to pull him away. Surprisngly, he held onto the podium with his hands even as he looked into the camera, his gaze steely as he continued to rant.

_"Think of the DVD's!"_ he shouted. _"Think of my residuals! Do it for Bob Crane! We-"_

His voice was cut off as the Presidential Seal appeared on screen again. A moment later, the screen went to static. Sgt. Moffitt nodded in satisfied approval before she walked outside. The crowd that gathered around her filled the square even as she climbed onto the top of a nearby car. More members of the mob flowed out of the wrecked entrances of the nearby stores.

It was time.

She grabbed her Rabble-Rouser (tm) brand megaphone from an aide and addressed the crowd. "Members of Hogan's Mob," her amplified voice began, echoing off the nearby buildings, "It's been a long and hard fight, but now victory is within our grasp. We now know where the enemy is. It's time to teach him a lesson for defiling our DVD's! Are you with me?"

The crowd let out a thunderous burst of sound. Looking down, she saw three members at the front of the mob - Sophia Villo, El Gringo Loco, and Chopstick Legend - raise their various weapons in acclaim. Sgt. Moffitt raised the megaphone again.

"ARE YOU WITH ME?" she shouted again.

This time, the roar from the assembled mob members made the nearby windows vibrate. Moffitt lowered her hand and smiled. _Ah, the power_, she thought.

A waving hand caught her attention; it was ColHogan, another fan fiction author. "Can we get some ice cream first?" she asked.

"HOOOOOGAN!" Moffitt yelled, shaking her left fist. "We're on a mission from Newkirk, not to satisfy your sweet tooth!"

ColHogan was unrepentant. "There are priorities, and then there are _priorities_," she pointed out.

"Fine," replied Moffitt, giving in, "but only if I can get some cappuccino chocolate chip..."

* * *

><p><em>Next: Chapter 9 - The Trial, Part One<em>

_Special bonus: what movie reference did Sgt. Moffitt paraphrase? And which movie does it belong to? First to answer the question correctly gets star billing in the next chapter!_

_As always, thanks for reading; your reviews are always appreciated!_


	9. The Trial, Part One

**_The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)_**  
><strong><em>by 80sarcades<em>**

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><p>As always, thanks for reading andor reviewing this story so far! Also, I'd like to thank those that reviewed Chapter 7 of Marie1964's work A Menagerie of Poetry! I'm glad-

[Sound of tearing paper; a figure emerges from a hole in the computer screen. 80sarcades gasps in horror]

"Sgt. Moffitt!" [80sarcades eyes the bat in her hand warily] "Listen," I babbled, "if you're going to beat me up, do me a favor and wait until the last chapter! I still have the trial to go through, you know!"

"Oh, there'll be time for your _comeuppance_ later," she said sweetly. "I just wanted to hear who won the 'guess the movie' contest."

"Oh, right…that…" I said, getting my breathing under control. "Um…the winner is…"

I gulped nervously as Moffitt leaned forward, brandishing her bat with a nasty smile. Understandably, my next words were a jumble:

"um…itsnot the powerhungryKommandant but...**Snooky-9093**! Yup, **Snooky-9093**!" I yelled. "Gotta go!"

Sgt. Moffit's wild swing failed to connect with me as I escaped back into 1943. She snarled in frustration.

_Another day, 80sarcades_, she thought savagely. _Another day…_

Disclaimer: None. I'm too busy watching the other authors flame me. Literally. Really shouldn't have given them that flamethrower, you know. Another potential and senseless author death caused by convenient plot devices:-)

Credit also goes to **Jinzle** for a little something she left in a review;-) The trial format, as you will see, is a bit relaxed from normal military court-martial procedure. Might as well have a bit of fun! The next update should be on Sunday (or Monday at the latest). BTW, Happy Mother's Day to all!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 9: The Trial, Part One<strong>_

Life, it seemed, was decidedly unfair.

Let's review: I had been kidnapped, jailed, met the Heroes, met Hochstetter, been transformed into a woman, and essentially been told that I would be put on trial for my life. If that wasn't bad enough, I also had this mixture of chocolate cravings, cramps, and an intense desire for some Midol.

How could it get any worse?

Just then, Major Hochstetter strode up to the cell with a smug look on his face.

"I'm here to audit your taxes," he smugly announced.

I slapped my forehead in frustration. "No, No, NO!" I yelled. "CUT!"

The stage buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the take. I sighed, then shook my head in disgust before I rose up from the bunk. As I walked around the jail door prop, I nailed Wolfgang Hochstetter with an icy glare. "Just what script have you been reading?" I demanded angrily. "That's for the planned one-shot, not the series finale! Come on, Wolf, pull it together!"

The other man sighed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I really haven't been feeling that well today..."

My anger deflated. "That's ok," I said sympathetically. "It's been a hell of a long week." My hand gestured at my feminine hair and enlarged chest. "I know it took about three hours for Sheila to put me in this getup," I confessed. "If the other authors only knew what we went through to entertain them!"

"I know," the Major shuddered. "You remember that fight I had with Wardrobe earlier? All because they wanted to make a 'minor' correction to my costume?" His face grimaced as he remembered. "I don't mind wearing the black uniform; it's a part of my character. But I will not wear what that one author thought up!" he exclaimed angrily. "She thought lacy panties, along with a satin and lace bustier, would have looked good underneath my outfit! What were they thinking? I'm a man, after all!"

"Well, you gotta admit that the white and powder blue colors did go with your eyes when you tried them on," I pointed out. "And I didn't see you get rid of them, either! Maybe you should have tried on the matching garter belt and stockings for the full effect..."

Wolf was not amused at my attempts to soothe him. Fortunately, I was able to change the subject before he really got worked up. He might be good at playing the bad guy, but it was definitely ruining the sensitive side of his soul. I lowered my voice to a whisper.

"You know, you ought to ask Sheila out. She thinks you're pretty hot, you know."

Hochstetter's left eyebrow raised up, his anger suddenly gone. "Really?" he asked, surprised. "I thought she was going out with Mark?"

"Nah, they broke up last week," I confided. "Besides, she thinks you look stunning in black. And that thing you did at the last cast party…" A laugh escaped my lips; my friend wasn't shy about doing stunts. Not to mention that he looked quite stylish while doing them in a speedo. My hand lightly grasped his shoulder as we walked towards the break area. "I'm just glad she's finally coming around," I told him. "Ask her out; you won't regret it."

A smile slowly crept onto other man's face. "Perhaps I'll do that," he said, nodding. I grinned in return.

"Look," I said, "we've only got this one last scene to shoot for today and then we'll break until Sunday. As soon as we get through, why don't we go back to my mansion? We'll play some Call of Duty, break out the white wine and the terrycloth robes..."

"Oh, that sounds good already!" Wolf interrupted, his eyes lighting up. I couldn't blame him; acting out the story was a strain on us both. Not to mention ducking around those _GoSlicer_ things; the mob was only too willing to use them on the both of us at this point!

"Then, we'll watch _The View_," I continued. "I TiVo'ed it, Barbara Walters is supposed to do a great piece today."

"Yeah, Barbara's pretty hot..."

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "We'll have the studio doc check your eyes, too," I said. "Might as well; we're not paying for it!"

"Great idea!"

"Afterwards," I went on, "we'll go blow off some steam. How about egging a car belonging to one of those other authors? Like that Sgt. Moffitt, for instance; she's already letting all that Kommandant power go to her head! Not to mention Jinzle, who dreamed up the whole lingerie bit. And of course, you could introduce yourself to Snooky-9093. She's the one that won that contest-"

My voice trailed off into nothingness as I saw Hochstetter's eyes suddenly widen. _What the heck?_

"Travis, your microphone is still on," he stage whispered.

I looked at him dumbly, not catching what he said. "Huh?" I asked.

"Your microphone is on!" his voice hissed louder; a hand pointed toward my collar. Sure enough...

"Aw, sh-"

[sizzle] [hiss] [clunk]

Author's note: The preceding page never happened. Really. Scout's Honor. Also, no egging of cars was either discussed or implied. Especially for any individuals going by the name of Sgt. Moffitt, Snooky-9093, or Jinzle.

Now back to the story!

* * *

><p>Life, it seemed, was decidedly unfair.<p>

Let's review: I had been kidnapped, jailed, met the Heroes, met Hochstetter, been transformed into a woman, and essentially been told that I would be put on trial for my life. If that wasn't bad enough, I also had this mixture of chocolate cravings, cramps, and an intense desire for some Midol.

How could it get any worse?

The door to the cooler block banged open, disturbing my thoughts even as my guard came to attention. My eyes flicked over to the bars as I waited for the echoing footfalls of additional booted feet to solidify before them. Two SS guards appeared, along with Schultz. He unlocked the cell door and stood back with a sad expression on his face even as one of the SS men gestured at me with his machine pistol. Obviously, I was expected to get up.

I lifted myself off the bunk and stood silently as the guard cuffed my wrists in front. With that done, I was led out through the cellblock and into the sunshine. For a moment, I thought about having the guards drag me out while I was kicking and screaming, but quickly decided against it. For one, I wasn't about to give Hochstetter any more satisfaction that I had to. And really: being dragged out by the cops while wearing handcuffs loses all of its flavor after the first time. Been there, done that.

More SS guards were posted outside. Obviously, Hochstetter wasn't taking any chances with me; their weapons were pointed at groups of silent - and obviously angry - prisoners. Colonel Hogan's minder, thankfully, wasn't about to keep him quiet.

"I protest, Kommandant!" he shouted. "This is a violation of the Geneva Convention! Military prisoners are supposed to be held and tried by a military court, not by the Gestapo!"

"Denied!" Klink's voice rang out from the Kommandtur's porch. Oddly, it sounded a bit more subdued than usual. Hochstetter, standing next to him, looked smug in victory.

"I also protest Major Hochstetter's involvement, Kommandant!" Hogan also yelled.

"On what grounds, Colonel?" the German Major growled. Hogan grinned.

"On the grounds that it's unfair to make American women date the Major," he said. "Obviously, German women have better taste in men-"

"BAH," Hochstetter roared, then looked over at the SS guards. "Get her into the truck," he ordered. As I was being herded towards the vehicle, I looked towards the Kommandant. His face, like Sergeant Schultz's, was sad; apparently, he didn't like this whole episode more than I did.

"Kommandant," I yelled; my heels dug into the ground as I vainly tried to force the guards to stop. "I also protest! You can't do this!"

Hochstetter waved his hand; the guards stopped and allowed me to face the Germans. "I'm a serving officer of the United States Army, and a Prisoner of War," I said, stating my case. "I've done nothing wrong! The Major here..." I pointed my finger in his direction, "...is trying to frame me! I respectfully request that I be held here pending any sort of trial!" I demanded. There was a murmur of approval from the assembled prisoners. Unfortunately, with the SS guards ready to shoot, it went no further. Klink shook his head.

"Based on the evidence against you, the Gestapo has authority in this case," the Kommandant said reluctantly. "The Luftwaffe has ordered me to turn you over for further..._questioning_." He made the last word sound dirty.

"Then put me in a barracks by myself!" I argued. "This will be the only camp in all of Germany where the prisoners will actually tunnel _into _camp!"

Oddly enough, I could see a glimmer of amusement behind the Kommandant's monocle. Unfortunately, it made little difference. "Regardless, there's nothing I can do. Nothing!" he emphasized, dismissing my complaint. Schultz, standing nearby, snorted.

"That sounds familiar..." he muttered. Klink overheard him. In a flash, he rounded on his Sergeant, his face full of frustration and impotent anger.

"Oh, SHUT UP!" he roared, shaking his fist. With that, he turned away and disappeared inside his office.

Hochstetter motioned again. This time, I was shoved into the back of a waiting truck. As we drove out of camp, Hogan, followed by the rest of the Heroes, came to attention and saluted. With my cuffed hands, I managed to return the gesture halfheartedly before they and the camp slipped out of view.

I was now on my own. But I wasn't giving up.

* * *

><p>The truck took me to Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg. Except for the Nazi banners, the rest of the façade was quite drab. Then again, so was the Major. The jail cell he threw me in probably rated five stars in an S&amp;M guide somewhere. Or, at the very least, was the lead photo spread in <span>Medieval Cells Monthly<span>. Hochstetter took great delight in telling me that the SS court, as well as the execution, were scheduled for tomorrow. For my part, I also took pleasure in cursing him out as he walked away. Granted, it was a long series of 'bleeps' but the sentiment was there.

Dang 1960's morality!

I settled into my new quarters and started making friends with the rats. Hopefully, with a bit of luck, I could train one of them to grab the keys to the cell and bring them to me before I made my dramatic escape. I had high hopes that this would actually happen. Say, in twenty years or so.

Fortunately for me (though I didn't know it) luck was about to swing back to my side. General Kinchmeyer, bless him, finally managed to reach General Burkhalter at whatever ski chalet/log cabin/bordello he was at. With his considerable weight - pardon the pun - he was able to transfer the trial jurisdiction to the German Army (Heer). I would still be tried, of course, but at least I might escape lead poisoning.

This also had an added side benefit: I was transferred from the delightful Gestapo hellhole to a small room in a nearby hotel. As expected, I was placed under guard in my new digs to await my trial. 'General' Carter was able to bluff his way past the guards to ask me if there was anything I needed. Fortunately, with a second visit, he was able to provide it.

It took a while to thumb through Hogan's well-worn copy of the Geneva Convention. Eventually, I hit pay dirt. My finger ran across the selected passage as I sighed in relief. If my plan worked, I would be able to use it.

All I had to do was wait. Thankfully, I did have some help to 'get ready' for the trial. My uniform was dry cleaned, for instance. A lady came by to help me with my makeup and hair. Otherwise…well, let's face it. In reality, I'm a guy. I'm clueless about such things. On the other hand, let's be fair: I might have done a good job on myself. That is, if I had the desire to look like the female version of Mr. T.

Besides, it was absoultely essential that I look as beautiful as possible. Gorgeous. A drop-dead bombshell. A hottie. Well, you get the idea.

The trial finally began on August 13th, 1943. That Friday started out beautifully with sunny skies, though a bit hot. The guards were a bit clumsy, however; for starters, they ran over a black cat on the way to the courtroom. Later, as we were walking underneath some ladders, one of them bumped a scaffold and nearly sent a paint can crashing down on my head. Thankfully, we reached the courtroom on time and without further incidents.

Hochstetter, thankfully, wasn't in the gallery. However, one of his SS goons was. Presumably he was there to keep tabs on the trial. I was more worried about my defense counsel, however. The guy shook my hand, but actually showed little interest in me as a person. Still, I hoped that this lawyer's integrity, honesty, and dedication to human ideals would show through when I needed it.

God, it was so good to hear a woman's hysterical laughter. Even if it was my own.

Just then, the bailiff - or whatever he was for a German Army court-martial - entered through the courtroom through a side door.

"All rise," he intoned. "The People's Court of the German Army is now convened; trial judge Colonel Albert Wapner, presiding; Georg Gartner, associate judge..."

The judges, five of them in all, filed into the room and took their seats behind a polished oak table. Judge Wapner quickly glanced at his notes before he motioned for everyone to sit. With that done, he banged his gavel to start the trial.

"Case 131313," he stated in a smooth tone. "Germany v. Captain Eighties Arcades, United States Women's Army Corps…" He broke off, eyes narrowing. "What kind of name is Eighties Arcades?" he asked. My face grimaced. _They always mangle the name…_

"French Tahitian," I lied. "Don't ask."

"All right," he nodded; his voice then turned serious. "You have been charged with espionage," he formally intoned. "Do you understand the seriousness of the charges against you? The penalty, if you are found guilty, is death."

"Yes, your Honor," I replied.

_Moreover, I'm counting on it!_

"Very well, then," Wapner said. He then turned towards the other table. "Prosecution, are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, your Honors," the prosecutor, a German Army captain, said. "We intend to prove that the defendant, Madame Arcades, committed numerous espionage offenses against the Third Reich. In addition, her writings besmirch the honor of a noted German officer..."

As the prosecutor droned on with his opening statement, I started to get a bit nervous. My counsel was almost frothing at the mouth to deliver his speech. And it wouldn't be a good one for me either.

Obviously I had to do something, but what? What could I do? I might look like a female, but underneath this feminine surface I was all man. What does any guy do when the chips are down? Suddenly, I had the answer.

_Gratuitous Violence [ON]_

The courtroom fell silent as the prosecutor finished his spiel and sat down. Judge Wapner then looked at the defense table.

"Defense, please rise," he ordered. Both the defense counsel and I stood up to await the Judge's next command. "How do you plead?" he asked.

As expected, my lawyer made his move first. "Your Honor," he began, "The defendant pleads guil-_OOF_!"

My elbow, fortuitously, somehow slammed its way into his stomach. As he doubled over in pain, my hands came up to my face in feigned shock.

"Oh, you poor man," I yelled. "I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you up!" Which I did. Unfortunately, I really don't think you're supposed to help someone up by putting a knee to their face. His limp body fell backward into the chair which then tipped over onto the wood floor. Amazingly, my lawyer still tried to get up.

"Your Honor," the prosecutor said, shocked. "The defendant is beating up his own counsel!"

"I'll allow it," Wapner said; his next statement was _sotto voce_, but loud enough to overhear. "That'll teach him not to get me a Christmas present..."

"Thank you, Your Honor!" I said brightly before turning to my former counsel. A minute later, the damage was done.

_Gratuitous Violence [OFF]_

As the medics collected the fallen lawyer, I turned to Judge Wapner. "Judge," I began, "since my defense counsel is unavailable...and probably needs major plastic surgery, from the looks of it...I'd like to delay my plea until the prosecution finishes its case."

"Granted," Wapner allowed.

"I'd also like to request a new defense counsel. Fortunately," I added, "I have the right man for the job. I'd like to request Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the Kommandant of Stalag 13."

"Nonsense!" Wapner boomed. "We have three potential defense counsels sitting in this courtroom. You..." His words trailed off as his eyes searched the back of the courtroom; they then turned to the bailiff. "Where are my defense counsels?" he demanded.

The man ducked out of the room before returning a minute later. "Your Honor," he reluctantly began, "We have a problem."

"What?"

"Well..," the man continued, "two of the counsels, it seems, have volunteered for combat duty on the Russian Front. They're actually running to the train station, if you can believe it. As to the third one, well...he says he'll do it, but only if the defendant calls him Ursula."

"And which one is that?" Wapner asked, his face already dreading the answer.

"Um...your son-in-law, sir."

The Judge's teeth ground visibly. "Send him, too!" he ordered. "I told my daughter not to marry him, but no, no one listens to me. Does explain that dress, though..," he trailed off, mumbling to himself, before he returned to business.

"Your motion for a new defense counsel is granted," he said to me formally. "I presume he's acted as counsel before?"

"Yes, sir" I replied.

"Has he actually won a case?"

"Yes, sir," I repeated. _Well, winning by default is still winning, isn't it?_

"This trial is suspended until he arrives. And find this Colonel Dink," Wapner ordered. "Court is adjourned." The bang of the gavel emptied the courtroom. As usual, my ever-present guards were there to take me away.

I would also bet even money that Hochstetter will be soon laughing his butt off. _Klink as my defense counsel? I was doomed. Doomed!_

Little did he know that the Kommandant was essential to my overall plan.

* * *

><p>Colonel Klink, not surprisingly, was excited to be my defense counsel. I imagined that he thought it was his chance to shine. To get that red stripe on his trousers. Silly schmuck.<p>

"What kind of defense should we use?" he gushed. "Personally, I think we should use insanity; that's always a wonderful option. We can blame everything on female problems..."

I groaned. As I banged my head on the table, the Kommandant's voice continued to intrude.

"That's perfect!" he cried happily. "Now, just do that during the trial and everything will be fine!"

"Fine? Fine!" My anger broke. As much as I love Klink...

I leaped up and grabbed him by the front of his uniform jacket. As I pulled him close, his expression turned to terror as my own became a rictus of fury. "Listen, you!" I growled loudly. "We are _NOT_ going to blame this on female problems! And if you don't sit down and shut up, you're going to have a _female problem_ on your hands! Is this how you treat your dates? Why, I oughta-"

My words died off as the rest of the courtroom finally caught my attention. The gallery was watching me with breathless anticipation. The judges, who had somehow slipped in during my rant, looked on in amusement.

I released Klink's jacket, smiled, and pretended to straighten the lapels. "Sorry," I apologized. "We were just discussing defense strategy..."

There was murmuring from the gallery. Looking over, I could see tickets being torn up; a few hands here and there were exchanging money. Even the judges were passing sawbucks. I belatedly, if not angrily, realized what was going on.

_They were all betting on me! The bleeps!_ I raged.

_And I didn't get my cut!_

"Is there something wrong?" an oily - and very familiar - voice asked.

Even as I rolled my eyes, I turned to see Major Hochstetter standing behind me. Instead of scaring me - as was his intention - I flashed my best smile at him.

"Why, nothing Major," I said smoothly. "We were just discussing the additional charges against me."

"What additional charges?" Hochstetter demanded to know.

"Oh, homicide," my voice said offhandedly. "Dressing the body in a colorful dress. Posing it in a public place and putting a girlie magazine in one of its hands. You know, little stuff like that."

"And when were these filed?"

I smiled evilly. "They haven't been filed...yet."

Hochstetter involuntarily stepped back from me even as Wapner's voice thankfully intruded.

"Can we start the trial, please?"

The gavel he held banged away loudly while everyone took their seats. This time, Hochstetter sat in the courtroom. Obviously, he was waiting for Klink to fall on his face.

As I expected, the Prosecutor presented evidence that I was an Allied spy. It was apparent that the Major had done a pretty good number on me. If it were to be believed, I was not only responsible for various acts of sabotage throughout Germany but also for three assassination attempts against the Führer! I really didn't start to cringe until the last of it. Really, though; did Hochstetter have to create that fake film of me pole dancing in some bar where I 'supposedly' collected war secrets? And did the court have to screen the 'evidence' twice? Or make catcalls while it was playing? You would have thought a judge shouting 'Hey, baby, take it off' was less than professional, but no...

_It figures,_ I groused. _I can't curse, but they can show nudie films! Double standard if I ever heard one! _

After lunch, they finally got to the good stuff. Namely, my stories involving the Major.

"Your Honors, we'd also like to present documents that prove beyond a doubt that this Allied agent," the Army Captain loudly boomed, pointing a finger at me, "defamed the character of one Wolfgang Amadeus Hochstetter." As he walked a file folder to the bench, I spoke up.

"Your Honors, Colonel Klink is serving as my legal advisor. He's given me permission to conduct any lines of questioning." I looked at Klink and almost dared him to say otherwise. Thankfully, he merely nodded and sank back into his seat before I continued.

"Can I ask for the court reporter to repeat the prosecutor's last statement?" I asked. The judge nodded in agreement; that particular sentence was read back.

"Satisfied?" Wapner asked.

"Yes, sir," I said. "It was just a thought. Amadeus really does sound more stupid the second time around."

The gallery chuckled. I didn't need to turn around to see Hochstetter's furious glare; I knew it was there. The courtroom fell silent as the judges read the documents in question. At first, there was a muted chuckle, which turned into a hushed guffaw. Finally, one of the members laughed out loud. It soon proved contagious.

I leaned back into my seat, hands behind my head and a smile upon my face. Klink looked puzzled. And as for Hochstetter... Amazingly, the acoustics in the courtroom were pretty good; I recognized the sound right away.

_I really have to get him one of those teeth grinding things for Christmas_, I decided. _Otherwise, he's going to need dentures pretty soon._

"Madam Arcades," Wapner asked when he regained control of himself, "did you write these articles?"

"Yes, sir. I did," I affirmed.

"I refer you to one of them...let's see...ah, here it is!" the judge said, pulling it out. "Hochstetter's Stalag. You turned Major Hochstetter into a ghost that peeped into ladies restroom stalls."

My shoulders shrugged. "Sure did," I replied. "But to be fair, that's probably what he did in real life, too."

"That's a lie," Hochstetter shouted, rising to his feet. "Those charges were never proven. I-"

He stopped his words, but it was too late. The men and women on either side of him were moving away to other seats. The Major started to say something else, but the collective glare of the judges silenced him. With a furious glare and a red face, he sat down.

"And as to this other one," another judge said. "A parody of the Night Before Christmas, with the Major's involvement." He snorted, his laughter barely contained as he quoted, _"It never seemed as if he would ever come down/As the Major flew over Hammelburg and mooned the town..."_

This time, the rear of the courtroom laughed along with the judges. A low growling could be heard over the din; obviously, the object of the carol was not amused.

"The prosecution rests, your Honors," the prosecutor said, unfazed.

"So noted," Wapner noted. "Defense, how do you plead?" he asked.

"Guilty as sin, your honor," I said cheerfully.

The courtroom exploded into bedlam. Hochstetter jumped up and pumped his fist in victory while more money changed hands among the crowd. The judges, however, looked puzzled._ I guess they don't have that many people actually say they're guilty,_ I thought. _Does give a change of pace…_

The prosecutor, on the other hand, was both pleased at the plea and furious for having to waste his time. His irate glare said it all:

_You could have said that earlier, you bleeping bleep!_

Judge Wapner banged his gavel. "Order! Order in this court!" he called. After the courtroom calmed down, he repeated his earlier question.

"Guilty as sin, sir," I replied, still smiling. "I did it. Dood it. Done it. I'm responsible. I committed the dastardly deed. And if it hadn't been for those meddling kids. I would have gotten away with it!"

"What kids?" the Judge shouted. Now it was my turn to be embarrassed.

"Sorry, wrong series," I apologized. "I get carried away sometimes…"

"Well, then," he said in a calmer voice, trying to get things back on track. "A guilty plea has been entered. We'll now move on to sentencing..."

"Excuse me, Your Honor," I called. "I'd like to refer you to the Geneva Convention of 1929, Section Nine. The treatment of women and other noncombatants."

Wapner raised an eyebrow. "You're a serving officer of the United States Army," he explained. "That section wouldn't apply to you."

"Indulge me, Your Honor," I said serenely. "I just pled guilty. What's the harm?"

"All right," the Judge nodded. An aide brought him a copy of the convention; his fingers thumbed through the appropriate pages.

"Paragraph 12, Subsection B," I offered helpfully.

A finger traced down the page until it found the appropriate section; his eyes read the words before him. A deathly hush settled over the courtroom as Wapner's face suddenly paled. He looked at me in disbelief.

"You don't mean..." he began.

I nodded. At that moment, I jumped up and _leaped_ onto my chair. My right index finger pointed accusingly at Major Hochstetter even as my lungs took a deep breath. Suddenly, my voice exploded onto the courtroom:

"MAJOR WOLFGANG HOCHSTETTER IS THE FATHER OF OUR LOVE CHILD!," I bellowed in my best _Jerry Springer Show_ fashion. "I'M PREGNANT!"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Now there's a line you might not have heard before in Hogan's Heroes fan fiction!_

_The bill establishing the Women's Army Corps was signed on July 3rd, 1943. So I just squeaked by on that one! August 13th, 1943 actually fell on a Friday, believe it or not._

_As far as the Geneva Convention: I made Section 9 up. The only reference to women I could find is in Part 1, Article III: "Women shall be treated with all consideration due to their sex."_

_Serious side note for anyone interested: Georg Gartner (the second judge) was the name of an actual German Prisoner of War. He escaped from his camp in Arizona in 1945 and spent the next forty years on the run in America before he turned himself in. Along the way he built a successful life and got married. Still…forty years. Two generations of looking over your shoulder in another country; that's a lot for anyone to take. The story did have a happy ending, though; he became a American citizen in 2009 (according to wikipedia)._

_As always, thank you for reading! Reviews, of course, are appreciated!_

_Next: Chapter 10 - The Trial, Part Two_


	10. The Trial, Part Two

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>My apologies for the late post: blame it on ffnet! And now, some reasons for writing:<strong>_

_**The ability to write a story for people: a blessing.**_

_**The ability to entertain people: simply wonderful.**_

_**The ability to make people think you've lost it: insane elation.**_

_**The ability to make people think you're off your meds: blissful joy.**_

_**The ability to make people spew various liquids including (but not limited to) coffee, cocoa, and soup when they read a story: priceless.**_

_**The ability to make a person feel better after a horrible day: beyond words.**_

_**Disclaimer: I disclaim Hochstetter as the father of my baby. So there!**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 10: The Trial, Part Two<strong>_

For a long moment, there was a shocked silence. Predictably, it didn't last.

Hochstetter's shout of outrage was drowned out by the incoherent yells of the people around him. I stepped down from the chair and watched Judge Wapner try to restore order. Ah, the mayhem one can cause! It was almost like being part of a mob!

_Why do I have a bad feeling when I say that?_

After a few minutes, the crowd quieted down. Wapner then turned his attention back to me.

"How do you know that you're pregnant?" he asked. My smile turned demure.

"A woman knows," I said, batting my eyelashes at him. Okay, that raises a bigger question: do women really know? At least there's one good thing about 1943 Germany, however: no instant pregnancy tests!

Unless they kill a rabbit, they're no way to disprove my claim. Ha! And if I'm lucky, I might beat the rap!

Then again, pigs may fly...

Judge Wapner silently polled his colleagues for a moment before speaking again. "Given that possibility," he allowed, "the court has no choice but to delay the prosecution of the defendant until a later date..."

"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" the Major screamed. He began to push his way out of the gallery even as Judge Wapner fixed him with a glare.

"You're out of order, sir," he warned.

"Who cares?" Hochstetter said dismissively. "I'm Gestapo." For my part, I merely stood where I was and watched the Major walk up to the defense table. His hand, trembling with suppressed rage, pointed at my calm face. "HE IS AN ALLIED AGENT!" he yelled, spittle flying. He failed to notice the looks of confusion on the faces of the judges, not to mention the studio audience.

_Oh, I am so going to enjoy this..._

"You mean 'she', don't you, dear?" I sweetly asked. The Major's mouth worked silently before he spoke again.

"Yes...She...of course," he stammered, realizing the error. Hochstetter then turned to the judges. "I know for a fact that _she_," he sneered the word, "is _not_ pregnant. _She_," he added in distaste, "is just trying to get out of her crimes! The evidence against her is overwhelming!"

"So, to summarize," I concluded, Law & Order style, "By not specifically denying that we had an relationship, you indirectly admit that we had an affair. And you know for a fact that I'm supposedly not pregnant because you had the um, birth control..."

For a moment, I thought Hochstetter was going to have whiplash; he whirled around that fast. "That's not what I said!" he flared; I couldn't tell if he was more angry at me or himself. "You're twisting my words against me!" He turned to the Kommandant, a sneer on his face. "Klink," he shouted. "Get your client under control!"

"But Major," Klink breathed, terrified, "she's doing fine so far..."

"BAH!" Hochstetter growled, then looked at me. "She's guilty," he said, stabbing his finger at me. "Of that you can have no doubt!"

I merely looked back at the man, a smile on my face. "Oh, Wolfgang," I breathed...

_Academy Award Winning Performance [ON]_

...before rushing forward, dropping to my knees before him. "Liebchen," I wailed. "Please, don't do this. For God's sake!"

Hochstetter was unmoved. "Go away," he muttered angrily. My hand caught his arm as he tried to pull away; somehow, I kept him rooted in place. "Let go of me!" he demanded.

As he tried to yank his arm away again, I looked up with tear-streaked eyes. "How can you do this, my love?" I cried. "You knew I was an Allied agent when we met; yet, you chose to be with me..."

"Stop lying! We've never been together!" he said, visibly grinding his teeth. "This is all an act to save your miserable skin!"

"How can you say that, after all we've meant to each other," I crooned. "Don't you remember all the fun times we've had? It's not my fault that you told me where that convoy was going! Or, when you served me breakfast in bed and blurted out the location of that underground bomb factory! You knew I was going to pass on the information to London, but you didn't care!"

"You..." Suddenly, his eyes widened. Honestly, I'm surprised it took him this long to figure out what I was doing. The small smile I gave him was merely the icing on the cake. _If I'm going down, then so are you!_

"You bleep!" he blurted; the onlookers gasped in shock.

"Major Hochstetter!" Judge Wapner's voice echoed from the bench, "that kind of language is uncalled for!"

I, for my part, looked properly horrified before I began to cry again. "You make that sound so mean now," I sobbed, more tears moistening my already damp cheeks. "How could you? When we were playing our special games, you used to say it with such love..."

_Oh, I am SO going to hell. Or at least puke. And I'm not even done yet!_

"If you won't think of me, think of the twins," I cried. "Hans and Gretel are going to need a father. Don't turn your back on them with these wild accusations. Please!" I begged.

"I'm not listening to any more of this," Hochstetter yelled. He finally tore his arm from my grasp and started to leave the courtroom...

...only to have two men in SS uniforms - my guards - level their machine pistols at his midsection. The onlookers glared at him with hate; even the judges were putting together a noose!

"WHAT IS THIS!" he screamed. "I am a member of the Gestapo! Out of my way!"

The guards refused to budge. As he turned around, I could see the venom in his eyes while his body prepared to strike. I had to act fast.

"You..." he choked out. "You did this..." He then looked at the judges, fury on his face. "You've been tricked," he shouted, pointing his finger at me. "That woman is a man!"

The eyes of the court - not to mention everyone else - flicked over to me as I gave him a sultry look. "I'm all woman, liebchen," I crooned. _You should know; you made me this way!_ "Or are you saying that you like men now?"

The look he gave in return contained anything but love. He was about to speak when I cried out again.

"Oh, Wolfgang. Stop!" I wailed. "Please, think about this! Think about what you're doing!"

Suddenly, Hochstetter's demeanor abruptly changed. "I have," came the cool, if not measured, response.

_Oops…_

His hand went for his sidearm. Time seemed to slow as he pulled the Luger free; he quickly leveled the muzzle at me and pulled the trigger...

...only to see the shot go wild as one of the crowd tackled him, sending him to the floor. The man that did it held up the pistol before letting loose with a triumphant roar. Wapner and another Judge, meanwhile, stared sadly at the noose. The errant projectile had severed the lower rope, completely ruining their handiwork.

Fortuately, the bailiff had a pair of handcuffs ready. Hochstetter's hands were quickly secured behind him before he was hauled to his feet by several members of the audience.

"RELEASE ME THIS INSTANT!" he screamed, writhing against his restraints. "YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY TO DO THIS! I AM GESTAPO!"

"You tried to murder the defendant," Judge Wapner shot back. "More importantly, you nearly killed me!" His grin then turned predatory. "There is something wrong with you, Major!" he declared. "As of now, I am putting you in protective custody. You-"

"ARREST THAT MAN!" Hochstetter blurted, cutting him off. Confused, I and everyone else followed his gaze; my jaw dropped in shock. Another Army Captain had entered the back of the courtroom, and he was a dead ringer for...

"That is Colonel Hogan, the Senior POW at Stalag 13," the Gestapo Major declared. "You are in collusion with an escaped Prisoner of War!"

The head Judge looked at the Gestapo officer in confusion. "That is Captain Baumann!" he declared indignantly. "He's been on my staff for the past year! How dare you accuse him of being a Prisoner of War!"

_Wow, there really are two of them!_ I thought in surprise. _Maybe I can send one of them towards a certain fanfic author as an early Christmas present…_

"There is something definitely wrong with you, Major," the judge repeated, his tone a mixture of annoyance and concern. "You need professional help!"

Hochstetter's eyes turned wide as he finally realized the trouble he was in. "But I...I," he stammered. Wapner ignored him. Instead, he spoke with the Captain for a moment before the latter ducked out of the room.

"Fortunately, we have someone on our staff that can help you, Major," he soothingly said. "Captain Baumann has gone to get him." At that moment, the rear doors of the courtroom banged open. "Ah, there he is now..." Wapner announced.

As one, the crowd turned to see two figures in white outfits enter the room. My jaw dropped again. _No, it couldn't be..._

"I still don't see why you get top billing," the shorter of the two, a duck with black feathers, was complaining.

"It's in my contract," the taller one replied, albeit smugly.

"Well, _I'm_ getting a better agent," the duck firmly stated, spitting his words.

"Ah, Doctor Bunny," Judge Wapner called. "Thank goodness you're here today! This poor man needs your help." He gestured towards Hochstetter, whose eyes were as wide as saucers.

"ARE YOU MAD?" the Major yelled, straining against the hands that held him in place. "That's a cartoon character. A Looney Toons cartoon character," he said, shivering; obviously he remembered Taz and the Roadrunner. Plus the boulder. "They're Americans!" he exclaimed.

"Doctor Bugs Bunny is a recognized German doctor, Major Hochstetter," replied Judge Wapner. "His assistant, Sappy Duck-"

"Hey, that's Daffy Duck!" the mallard in question interjected.

"He also gets second billing, too." Bugs added. Daffy glared at him, then balled his fists.

"You're despicable," he muttered darkly.

"Can you help the Major, Doctor?" Wapner interrupted.

Bugs nodded, then walked towards his new patient. Hochstetter squirmed, trying to escape, but got nowhere.

"Keep him away from me," he spat. The cartoon character ignored him as he began the examination.

"Hmmm..." he mused; he put one of his hands on Hochstetter's forehead for a moment "Oh, poor man," he moaned, "You have a severe case of _delusionius idioticious_. Fortunately, I can help you with that!"

"What are you talking about, you-urk!" His last words were choked off as Bugs pulled the Major's tongue out to an eye-bending six feet. As the 'doctor' looked it over, I inwardly cringed.

_Now that has to hurt!_

Bugs then released the tongue. In theory, it was supposed to slam back into his mouth. In practice, however...

_Well, I was wrong_, I thought. _Wish I had a camera, too. I would have never figured it could go off course and give its owner a black eye!_

_Look at the bight side, Major. At least he's not doing a prostate exam! So far, anyway._

"You look really tense, doc," Bugs calmly remarked. "Here, have a cigar."

He pulled a stogie out of his jacket and stuck it into the Major's mouth. "Six out of ten doctors say that smoking is good for you, you know," he casually remarked. Before the Major could think about spitting it out, Bugs had the end of the cigar lit up.

Specifically, I belatedly realized, the end that had a fuse sticking out of it.

_Oh, bleep!_

I quickly backed away along with the rest of the audience. Too bad that the Major didn't have that option. Funny how a man's eyes can really widen before a stick of dynamite goes off in his mouth.

Fortunately, the explosion didn't kill him. Instead, he merely staggered around like a daffy drunk while Bugs turned to his friend.

"Daffy, would you do the honors?" he asked.

"Of course!" the assistant replied. From out of nowhere he produced a straightjacket; an instant later Major Hochstetter was securely trussed up within it. By that time, the Gestapo man had recovered enough of his senses to glare evilly at me. Strangely, his eyes held a gleam of triumph.

"You may have won this battle, 80sarcades," he rasped angrily before a nasty smile crossed his face. "However, as you will soon see, you have lost the war. I win!"

"Not from where I'm standing," I replied, though I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Major never made idle threats. Still, my smile was genuine. I hooked a thumb upward. "Book 'em, Dan-O."

"You've got it, bub," Daffy said. He and Bugs started to drag the snarling Major away.

"Oh, Daffy..." I called.

He stopped, then looked over at me. "Yeah?"

"You're one of the best cartoon characters out there," I offered. "Nobody does it better than you. Just wanted you to know that."

Daffy's face brightened. "Gee, thanks," he said happily. He then turned to his partner. "Did you hear that, Bugs?" he said, his voice smug. "She said I was the best cartoon character ever!"

"And yet, I have a better agent than you," Bugs smoothly replied.

Daffy fixed him with a narrow glare. "Oh, SHADDUP!" he yelled. As the entourage passed through the courtroom doors, Wapner's voice spoke up again.

"If everyone can take their seats," he began, "we can continue the trial." Slowly, the courtroom reassembled itself; it was several minutes before the proceedings continued. Obviously, judging by the hushed whispers between the judges, the verdict was not far off.

In that, I wasn't disappointed. Judge Wapner wore a serious expression on his face as he handed down the decision.

"Madame Arcades," he began, "Due to the circumstances, we have decided not to delay the verdict. As to the lesser charge - defaming the honor of a German officer - the court finds you not guilty. You are free to write whatever you wish about Major Hochstetter..."

_Yup,_ I thought, _its official. I can now officially screw someone over. And it's legal! The things I can do to him now!_

_[insert evil laughter here]_

"... As to the more serious charge of spying," he went on, "normally, the penalty for espionage in wartime is death. However, due to your _condition_, we are suspending the sentence..."

Inwardly, I cheered. Outwardly, I waited for the other shoe to drop.

"...After your delivery, you are sentenced to no less than twenty-five years in prison without the possibility of parole." He banged the gavel. "Court is adjourned."

As the members filed out, followed by the crowd, I sat there in shock. The Allies would be here in two years, but still... With a sickening feeling, I finally realized the dreadful truth: the series never ended. Therefore, my sentence would never end. _Ow._

_And I really thought I would get completely off!_ I thought, my anger growing. I glanced at Klink, who had stayed almost silent through almost the whole affair. Now, he stood up and spoke, his body positively radiating energy.

"This is wonderful!" he exclaimed. Puzzled, I stared at him. Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

"Uh...I hate to tell you this," I cooly said, "but I lost. I'm going to jail! So how is this so 'wonderful'?'"

"Now I can handle your appeal!" the Colonel said. As he leaned over towards me, his voice became hushed. "Here's my strategy," he whispered. "Obviously, you were an Allied officer..."

"Uh, huh," I muttered the obvious, not liking where this was going.

"Major Hochstetter seduced you..," he continued.

"Ok..."

"...and he took advantage of your natural feminine weakness for such men..."

"Go on," I said, smiling.

"...and he led you into a trap. Then, he used your naïve love for him to force you to plead guilty to things you never did," he finished. "So, what do you think?"

"Hmmm..." I mused. "So basically, I lost control of my emotions, fell for Hochstetter, and got pretty much trumped by him. That's what you're saying, right?"

"Uh, huh," Klink said, nodding his head.

"You're fired!" I said cheerfully. As his face fell in disappointment, I turned to my guards. "Can I borrow your pistol?" I asked sweetly, if not a bit disgustedly. "I'd like to show Colonel Klink what happens when a woman loses control of her emotions..."

Needless to say, Annie did not get her gun. Then again, I would never have imagined that Klink could run that fast either.

_And he leaps over the railing, sprinting for the exit and...oh! he's tripped on something and goes sliding out the door...ooh, the East German judge gave him a low score for that..._

My guards, meanwhile, clapped me in cuffs before hustling me to the back of the building and to a waiting truck. After being locked in, the truck started to move. Obviously, I was being taken to prison.

_So now what?_ I thought dejectedly. _I'm going to jail, that's what! I guess I'd better do my HoganMacGyver bit and get out of here somehow._

_But how?_

Suddenly, the truck slowed. Muffled voices were silenced by the sound of fighting outside. As the chaos fell away into silence, the truck door finally opened. Silhouettes formed against the bright sunlight cascading in from outside. As my eyes slowly adjusted, the lead shadow spoke.

"Need a ride?" a friendly voice asked.

"Colonel Hogan!" I exclaimed. Behind him, the images of his men slowly came into focus: Newkirk. LeBeau. Kinch. And, of course, Carter. "Thank God you're here!" I exclaimed. "For a moment, I thought I'd be learning how to make shanks for a living!"

"We've also got something else for you," he said. "Newkirk?"

The Englishman produced a briefcase and laid it on the back of the truck before popping the latches. Nestled snugly inside my briefcase was the laptop; I sighed in relief."

"Oh, man, do I owe you!" I gushed.

"Just put me in a few stories with some lovely birds and we'll call it even," he said casually. "We nicked it from Hochstetter's house. You wouldn't believe the number of dartboards the man has with the Colonel's picture on them."

I nodded. "Somehow, I believe that. So what now?" I asked.

"Now you go home, and fast," Hogan ordered. "We'll hide the truck. You just get out of here!"

"Colonel, I thought you said that you couldn't get through?" I asked, puzzled. "What makes you think that it'll work now?"

Hogan shook his head tolerantly, then pointed at the computer. "Well, the first thing I would do would be to delete whatever Hochstetter's written, then go from there" he said dryly.

"Oh..." Embarassed, I quickly started the computer. _Why didn't I think of that?_

It didn't take long to get into the word processor. Strangely, the form only contained three paragraphs of electronic words. Oddly, the page also contained something about changing the title of Hogan's Heroes over to Hochstetter's Heroes.

_As if that would really fly! Boy, the Major really does have an ego_. I quickly deleted everything and was rewarded by the familiar ripple of my body returning to normal. Newkirk groaned.

"Now did you have to go ahead and do that?" he complained. "It'll be in my nightmares, it will!"

"Newkirk..." Hogan warned.

"It's true, Colonel," LeBeau cut in as his expression turned sour. "A female form is a wonderful thing," he declared. "To see it replaced by _that_..."

"Gee, thanks a lot," I replied. "I can always send Marya back to Russia..."

LeBeau clutched his chest with his right hand and pretended to swoon. "Oh, Marya," he called. "Why must the fates be so cruel..."

"Just kidding!" I laughed. The 'fainting' lover straightened back up before giving me a glare.

"You should never kid about love," he admonished, his face serious. "Especially to a Frenchman..."

"Knock it off," Hogan ordered, then looked at me. "You ready?"

"Yeah, just a minute..."

My hand stopped as I prepared to delete the document. For an instant, I looked at the men before me. Sure, they were fictional figures, but for right now they were _real_. As long as someone watched Hogan's Heroes, they were _real_. It also meant something else: they could never really go home.

Their real home, now and forever, was Stalag 13.

Any fanfiction I wrote wouldn't change things; the series never ended with the Heroes being liberated. I couldn't do anything to change the show in a major way, either. That would be tragic! Still, I realized that I could do _something_ in this universe. The original writers might not like it, but who cared?

_So why not? Should be interesting…_

My fingers began to type away as Hogan looked on, puzzled. "What's going on?" he asked. For a brief moment, I felt like I was Flynn in _Tron. Ah, the power of the users..._

"Just a little parting gift," I explained. When I finished, I saved the new document before powering down the computer. "So how do I get home?"

"You have to close your eyes, click your heels three times, and say 'I wish I was home,' Hogan explained; the other men chuckled at the thought.

"You're kidding," I sarcastically replied. Hogan shook his head, then smiled knowingly.

"Scout's Honor" he said. I sighed.

"Okay, here goes," I said. "See 'ya around, guys. It was nice meeting you." I smiled sincerely at them before I closed my eyes. My heels clicked three times before I said the magic words: _"I wish I was home..."_

The jaws of the Heroes, with the exception of Hogan, collectively dropped open as I faded from existence.

"Blimey..." Newkirk muttered in shock. The other men nodded in silent agreement before Hogan's voice broke in:

"All right, guys," the Colonel said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Let's hide the truck..."

* * *

><p><em>AN: This chapter ends on a sad note…but really: if you met the Heroes, and then had to leave, wouldn't you be sad?_

_Next: Chapter 11_


	11. The Outtakes And Bloopers Reel

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

* * *

><p>AN: Special thanks to **ColHogan **for her spoken contribution in the last scene. Should I do the evil laughter bit now?

Sorry for the late update. The next installment won't be until Tuesday; my apologies for that as well! Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 11: The Outtakes and Bloopers Reel.<strong>_

[80sarcades enters, peeks around corner. No mad Kommandants are in sight]

"Ok, Wolf," I called. "You can come on out. She's not here."

Major Wolfgang Hochstetter walked onto the stage. "Do I look all right?" he asked. "We've only have a few minutes before they begin shooting…"

"They're on right now," I deadpanned, motioning towards the red light on top of the nearby camera.

"Oh…" The Major blushed, embarrassed, even as his hand quickly smoothed out his hair. When he was done, our smiles greeted the at-home audience.

"Hi there! I'm 80sarcades and this is Wolfgang Hochstetter," I began, gesturing toward my friend. "We'd like to welcome you to the blooper reel for _The Return of Hochstetter_! Since we only have two chapters besides this - the next one is the mob scene, by the way - we thought we'd show you some of the hilarious outtakes made in the making of this story."

Hochstetter took it from there. "We'd also like to thank the audience for staying with us through this story," he said. "Really, we've had all sorts of fun-"

He broke off his monologue as the sound of an engine _echoed_ from somewhere offstage. We looked around for the source of the elusive noise but got nowhere. _So much for being a closed set! _I thought angrily.

Just then, a small moped roared out of stage left and schreeched to a stop beside us. The driver, a tall, thin black man - who suspiciously looked like Sheriff Bart from the movie Blazing Saddles - gave us a curious glance before he turned the sputtering engine off.

"Are one of you 80sarcades?" he asked.

"Well, that depends," I said. "If you're here to deliver a subpoena or paternity notice, then I've never heard of…who was it again?."

"I have a few telegrams for him," the man said.

"In that case, I'm 80sarcades."

Bart handed me a clipboard, three envelopes, and a pen. His finger pointed to a line on a receipt form. "Sign here," he told me.

I casually scribbled my name on the paper before taking a look at the first envelope. My eyes shot a disappointed glance at the other man.

"You sure there's nothing else that comes with it?" I asked. "No big honking checks from Publishers Clearing House, for instance?"

"Nope," Bart said cheerfully.

I muttered a few curses underneath my breath while my fingers tore into the envelope. The sender's name on the sheet inside caused me to smile.

"Hey, this one's from Sgt. Moffitt!" I exclaimed. "She's such a nice lady. Even if she is on this whole I-am-Kommandant-hear-me-roar power thing."

Hochstetter raised an eyebrow. "She made me into an Allied agent!" he exclaimed, frowning in disgust. "Isn't it bad enough that I have to play a Gestapo one?"

"Nobody's perfect," I countered, then looked back at the page. "Let's see…she wrote: _Quit stalling my big scene, you lousy…"_ My voice trailed off into silence as I read the rest of the sentence.

I turned the telegram sideways, then back again. "Wow, look at that conjugation!" I blurted out, impressed. "I've never had anyone curse me out that way!" I sniffled, then wiped a tear away. "I'm so proud of her! I'll really have to try and remember that one the next time I'm thrown out of a bar!"

"Oh, please," Hochstetter scoffed. "You usually just make obscene hand gestures when that happens! And that's after the police get there!"

"Well, I said I would _try_," I dryly replied before I looked back at the messenger. "Can I send her a return telegram?"

"You sure can," he said. "With or without a bomb?"

"Bomb, please," I nodded.

"Would you like to try our new all-in-one plastic models?" he asked before handing me a list of the devices they carried. "They're guaranteed to take out the recipient plus their house. And then there's the atomic model; additional charges apply-"

"Nah," I interrupted. "Just a simple cartoon bomb with the standard lit fuse, please. And can you have it delivered by Foghorn Leghorn? I'm sure she'll appreciate the special touch!"

"Done, and done!" Bart said. "If I could just have your credit card and message you want to send…"

While he processed the payment, I hurriedly scrawled some words on a message form. The missive was brief and to the point:

_To: Kommandant Sgt Moffitt c/o Hogans Mob _

_From: The elusive 80sarcades_

_Received your telegram [stop] Sending this with warmest regards [stop] Hope your day is a blast [stop]_

_80s_

Once the transaction was completed, I eyed the second envelope. "Ok, let's try this one," I said, opening it. There were two sheets of paper inside.

"Let's see," I read aloud, "This telegram is from Hogan's Mob, aka: _Jinzle, Marie1964, Crystal Rose of Pollux, Bits and Pieces, Justalittlehhfan, Hogan Macgyver, Sophia Villo, El Gringo Loco, Snooky-9093, Canadian Hogan's Fan, Chopstick Legend_…etcetera, etcetera…. I turned to the second page. Immediately, a Jack O'Neill phrase came to mind.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" I exclaimed. "This page is full of nothing but curses! They're mad that I haven't gone to the next chapter yet!"

"Didn't you say the blooper reel would slow them down?" Hochstetter asked.

"Yeah," I replied, still indignant. "But I never expected them to track me down! Who are these people, the CIA?"

"Actually," Hochstetter said, pointing to a name on the list, "this one does work for the CIA. And that one works for the IRS."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "Well, then! Guess I won't be making any jokes about those two agencies. You can, though; you're fictional."

"Thanks a lot!" the Major said, annoyed.

"And as for you!" I exclaimed, looking at Bart, "what sort of company delivers telegrams like these? I'm trying to keep this a curse-free story, and this isn't helping!" I waved the message around. Bart merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't forget about the third telegram." he said.

"Oh, yeah…" I hurriedly tore the envelope open. "This one's from ColHogan, and with no cursing," I said happily. "She wants to know why her Christmas present is on backorder. You know, the one from the last chapter? Well, I had to tell her something…"

"What do you mean?" Hochstetter inquired.

"Well," I began, "I told Colonel Hogan - the real one - that he had a hot date in the works. I played it up, you know: a candlelight dinner, soft music, an inviting couch…"

"So what went wrong?"

"Oh, everything," I replied. "London, as usual, came up with another sabotage-a-factory-now-or-else plan. Talk about ruining the moment! Fortunately, I was able to fix things," my voice confided. "I am an author, after all; we can do anything!"

The Major nodded in agreement. "So Hogan will have his date with…what was her name again?" he asked.

"ColHogan," I replied.

Hochstetter shuddered. I looked at him curiously. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Believe me," he said, shaking his head, "this is one time I actually feel _sorry_ for the real Colonel…"

"Hey, he's a survivor," I said, surprised. "I think he can handle himself without any problems."

"Actually," the Major snorted, "its how she handles _him_ that worries me! She's-"

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Bart interrupted suddenly. "I have something else for you!" His hand drifted towards the front of his pants. "Excuse me while I whip it out…"

"Whoa, Whoa, WHOA!" I yelled, holding up my hands. "This is a clean comedy! And besides, we have ladies in the audience!" I looked down at the telegrams in my right hand. "Well, they're women, anyway," I allowed. "After seeing some of these curses, I'm not even sure that I can call them _ladies_ anymore. Except for ColHogan, of course..."

Bart's hand froze, paper in hand. "You mean this?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry," I apologized before I snatched the paper from his hand, A grin crossed my face as I read the contents. "Hey, great news!" I happily shouted. "The first shipment of _Heroes Gone Wild_ is on on the way!" As I looked up into the camera, my voice switched to a smooth pitchman's tone. "Yes, you've heard right, ladies!" I smilingly announced. "Now you can own your copy of _Heroes Gone Wild_, the behind-the-scenes DVD that takes an 'undercover' look at your favorite Heroes! Call now to reserve your copy on Blu-Ray or DVD for just-"

"Does everything have to be a shameless plug with you?" Hochstetter growled, interrupting. "There's more to life than money!"

"Says you," I countered, annoyed. "This from the guy that has his own lingerie line at Victoria's Secret. That one will give me nightmares for years!"

"And your deal with the U.S. Army?" Hochstetter challenged. "How many of those GoSlicer9000's did you sell to them anyway?"

"Well, just a few…" I allowed. Suddenly, a flashback appeared.

_Why do I give myself these setups?_

_[flashback]_

_"We'd like to buy 500,000 units of those GoSlicer things," the two-star General in charge of Army Procurement stated. "How much would you like for each one?"_

_"The cost on each one is…let me see…" I played with a calculator, then made up a figure. "$299.29" I threw out. The General gasped._

_"The one on TV was only $29.99!" she exclaimed._

_"Sure, for the _civilian_ version," I smoothly said. "This is the military one, with a laser scope, point-to-point targeting, and other fun stuff. You'll get more bang for your buck! Besides," I added, "you've got creative accountants. What's a few tax dollars among friends?"_

_[end flashback]_

"Ok, so I sold more than a few!" I blurted. "So what's the problem?"

"You didn't cut me in!" Hochstetter yelled. "We agreed in advance: any money we made from saps would be shared equally!"

"Hey, I planned to share it with you," I shouted back. "Just as soon as I got to the beach in Tahiti! And you're one to talk about sharing! You've never shared anything from your lingerie setup! Not the outfits, nor the ladies that filled them out!"

"Why should I?" he yelled. "So far, you've had me eaten by Taz, crushed by a boulder, humiliated in front of a crowd, and dragged off in a straightjacket. And now you've cut me out of this DVD deal!"

"Well, I was going to include you in your very own title: _Hochstetter Gone Wild_," I fumed. "But you're too _fat_ for it!"

"Why you…"

Sherriff Bart watched the two men fight it out on the stage before he turned to the unseen audience. He bowed gracefully before speaking.

"Nice to meet you, ladies," he said politely, tipping his hat. "While they're fighting, I'll just turn on this projector. Have a good day!"

* * *

><p>:::start of blooper reel:::<p>

[Chapter 3, Scene 1: The Other End of the Shotgun. (Wrong casting)]

_How could it get any worse?_

I froze as I heard a metallic click to my right. Without moving, I cut my eyes in that direction. To my horror, I saw the dark muzzles of two pistols pointed at my head.

I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable blasts. Strangely, my mind was at peace before a gravelly voice interrupted.

"Now say your prayers, varmint!" it commanded.

_Huh?_

I cautiously opened my eyes to see Yosemite Sam standing there, an evil grin on his face.

"Varmint?" I croaked, my anger growing. "Varmint? Do I look like a 'Varmint' to you?" my voice yelled. " I don't even know what the heck that is!"

Sam lowered the pistols, an embarrassed look on his face. "Sorry about that, mister," he said in a normal tone. "For a minute there, I thought you were that rabbit!"

"Obviously not!" I growled, then looked around. Except for the two of us, there were no rabbits in sight. Wisecracking or otherwise. "I'm on the run from the SS and I nearly get killed by another American," I complained. "This is great! Just great!"

"Bring 'em on!" Sam yelled. "I'm the hootinist, tootinist, shootinist, bobtail wildcat in the west…"

"Shhh!" I pleaded, waving my hands. "Keep it down! The bad guys are nearby!" Unfortunately, the gunslinger was on a roll. His fingers pulled the triggers on the pistols, filling the forest with noise even as he continued to rant.

"…I'm the fastest gun north, south, east, and west of the Pecos! I'm a-warnin' you, stranger-"

A metallic _click_ interrupted his yelling. We both turned to see a SS enlisted man leveling his weapon at us. He fired off some commands in German that weren't too hard to translate. As Sam dropped his guns, I glared at him.

"_Now_, you shut up…"

[end scene]

* * *

><p>[New scene: Chapter 4, Scene 1 - Klink's Office]<p>

"Come on, Kommandant," Hogan interjected in his usual calm voice. "He surrendered peacefully. Under the Geneva Convention, all he has to do is give you his name, rank and serial number. I'm sure he could tell you his home address, if you like."

I turned and glared at him. "Just what kind of man do you think I am?" I demanded, hands on my hips. "I don't go around giving my address to strange men; I have a reputation to protect! I-"

My voice trailed off in embarrassment as I belatedly remembered the correct answer. "Sorry!" I apologized. "With all the back and forth between chapters, I couldn't remember if I was a man or woman in this one," I said, shrugging in embarassment. "Guess I got carried away…"

Klink, meanwhile, gave me a confused look. I glanced over at the American Colonel.

"By the way," I began, "do you know if Newkirk has any good shades of lipstick handy? I'd like to be ready for when Hochstetter changes me in chapter seven. A girl just has to look her best when they take her off to prison, you know! Red will do, though; I'm not picky. Also, we'll have to talk dresses-"

"SCHULTZ!" Klink screamed; the portly guard lumbered in. "Take him…her…whatever to the cooler!" he ordered, his voice rising to a screech. "Get it out of here!"

More guards appeared. As Colonel Hogan protested, their strong arms grabbed me and began to drag me out of the office.

"Wait!" I screamed. "We haven't done the yellow brick road sequence yet. That's the best part…" My wails faded away as I was pulled outside. Klink looked at Hogan.

"Hogan, Hogan, Hogan," he said chidingly. "With more men like that in your army, Germany will win the war!"

"Don't blame him on me!" Hogan countered. "_He's_ the one that flubbed up his lines…"

[end scene]

* * *

><p>[New scene: Chapter 4, Scene 1 - Klink's Office]<p>

"Move along, move along...to the cooler!" Klink yelled, his eyes flashing angrily as a hand pointed to the office door. "SCHULTZ!" he screamed.

Guess Klink isn't weak minded after all! Maybe I should try the Force grip...

(fifteen seconds later:)

"Oh, my God! You killed Klink!" Hogan cried out. "Now we're in for it!" Just then, Schultz came in; his mouth dropped open at the sight of the Kommandant's lifeless body on the wooden floor.

I peered over the desk. "Are you sure he's not a stunt double?" I asked.

[end scene]

* * *

><p>[New Scene: Chapter 6, End of Scene 1 - Into The Tunnel]<p>

"You sure you're all right?" ventured Newkirk cautiously, obviously wondering if I was bonkers. I nodded as I dropped the still-burning arrow to the floor before stomping it out with my shoe.

"I'd feel better if I had a beer," I joked.

"That, I can do," he answered. With practiced ease, he used a churchkey to open a can of beer. The glass he poured it in was dirty, but I didn't care. When he was finished, I grabbed it and took a long swig…

…only to spit the contents back out onto the tunnel floor. "This is awful!" I said, gagging as I tried to remove the taste from my mouth. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

The Heroes - except for Carter, who had a confused look on his face - began to laugh. "Now we're even, mate," Newkirk said, chuckling. "That's what your Army calls Near-Beer," he explained. "We call it flavored water. Not even the Krauts will drink that!"

By that point, I had recovered. That is, if your idea of recovery is to have the taste of stale cigarette butts and moldy beer in your mouth. "Okay, you got me!" I said; a dry chuckle escaped my lips. "So where's the real beer?"

"Can't help you there, mate," he said in all seriousness. "Nearest one's in Hammelburg."

"D'oh!"

[end scene]

* * *

><p>[New Scene: Chapter 7, Scene 3 - Not Again!]<p>

In desperation, I lunged my arm though the bars hoping to knock the computer out of his grasp. Unfortunately for me, I came up short. A familiar ripple signaled that my body was _changing_. My hands were graceful and feminine; the uniform I wore was now a…

…_little black dress_?

I looked down in utter horror at my new outfit. Especially at the short skirt.

Hochstetter, meanwhile, let out a long wolf whistle while I clamped my now-bare legs together. "I want my WAC uniform NOW!" I demanded of the drooling Major. "And stop trying to look up my skirt, you _PERVERT_!"

[end scene]

* * *

><p>[New Scene: Chapter 8, Scene 2 - Mob Rule, Obama's Choice]<p>

(original scene deleted due to time restrictions)

(A/N: Several people commented on a particular scene in this chapter. It was too good to pass up)

(cut to boxing arena)

"…and in this corner!" the voice boomed, "Weighing in at 192 pounds! We have the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Army Ranger and member of the 1979 Armed Forces Boxing Championship Team, General Bob Crane!"

(Loud cheers and yells from the Army section of the audience before the loudspeaker goes off again. A Navy officer, a Lieutenant Commander, stands at the mike)

"And in this corner!" he yelled, waving his hand in that direction. "Weighing in at 184 pounds! The Vice-Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff! A man that the bookies say has a strong shot to win! Heeres…General Ivan Dixon!"

(Not to be outdone, the Air Force outcheers the Army section. The Army section of the stands boos the Air Force. The Navy and Marine Corps contingents laugh at the both of them)

The referee - a Marine - called both fighters to the center of the ring.

"All right, sirs," the Master Sergeant said, "I want a good, clean fight. However, sirs," he added, "since you outrank me, I can't tell you what to do. Just promise me that the winner will stand up for me at the court martial. Now, GO GET 'EM!" he yelled, then stepped back.

The bell rang, starting the fight.

Both fighters, obvious to the cheers from the crowd, looked at each other for a long moment. Suddenly, each man spoke the other's first name at the same time.

"Ivan…"

"Bob…"

The Vice-Chairman waved his hand. "You go first," he shrugged. "You outrank me."

"Listen," General Crane began, "I had some time to think about all this. We've got bigger problems in the world than just us. Sure, America kicked Osama's butt. On the other hand, there's going to be some joker out there who thinks he can pull a fast one on the United States."

"Ain't that the truth," the other General noted. He looked around the arena, then sighed heavily. "You going to apologize?"

"Hell, no!" Crane said. "The Army never apologizes for anything. On the other hand, I'd like to say that I've never had any problems working with the Air Force. Even if they are a bunch of flyhead prima donnas. You?"

General Dixon snorted. "Well, ice will form in hell before I ever apologize to the Army for anything. Still, in the past our services have worked together. It can be that way again, even if you all are nothing more than a bunch of dog-ugly ground pounders."

"Works for me," the Chairman said, letting the insult fly by.

"Me, too," the Vice-Chairman said. They smiled at each other.

"So, what now?" Dixon asked.

"I don't know," his superior answered. "I came here geared up to kick Air Force butt. Not sure what to do, now."

"You're not the only one," General Dixon commented. "I was _so _going to knock you around the ring. My chance for glory!"

"Fat chance!" Crane laughed. "I've got a better solution, though: if we're not going to punch each other, then lets compromise. We'll beat up the Navy!"

"Great idea!" the Vice-Chairman said. "We can start with that annoying Commander that was announcing the fight! But what about the bets we put on our names? We'll lose money there."

"Not to worry," General Crane said. "The bookies had 'Riot' listed as 350 to 1, so I put a wad on that. I guess they figured they'd never have to pay out if there were two four-star Generals around. I'll split the pot with you. _And_, I call the first punch!

"You're on!" General Dixon.

What followed, short of actual war, was the greatest melee in United States Armed Forces history. And the winner was the…

(disclaimer: None of the Armed Services - U.S. Army, Air Force, Navy, or Marines - took any part in the making of this scene. I disclaim all knowledge of it. Therefore, don't beat me up.)

[end scene]

* * *

><p>[New Scene: Chapter 9, Scene 1 - The Trial, Part One. Thought sequence cut]<p>

"I know," the Major shuddered. "You remember that fight I had with Wardrobe earlier? All because they wanted to make a 'minor' correction to my costume?" His face grimaced as he remembered. "I don't mind wearing the black uniform; it's a part of my character. But I will not wear what that one author thought up!" he exclaimed angrily. "She thought lacy panties, along with a satin and lace bustier, would have looked good underneath my outfit! What were they thinking? I'm a man, after all!"

"Well, you gotta admit that the white and powder blue colors did go with your eyes when you tried them on," I pointed out. "And I didn't see you get rid of them, either! Maybe you should have tried on the matching garter belt and stockings for the full effect..."

Wolf was not amused at my attempts to soothe him.

_Oh, please! _I thought, somewhat annoyed. _You kept the lingerie anyway! Especially after you whirled around and asked me if your butt looked too big in you new outfit! And you still have the nerve to complain…_

[end scene]

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><p>[New Scene: Chapter 10: The Trial, Part Two. Scene 3 - Deleted Scene]<p>

Any fanfiction I wrote wouldn't change things; the series never ended with the Heroes being liberated. I couldn't do anything to change the show in a major way, either. That would be tragic! Still, I realized that I could do _something_ in this universe. The original writers might not like it, but who cared?

_So why not? Should be interesting…_

My fingers began to type away as Hogan looked on, puzzled. "What's going on?"he asked. For a brief moment, I felt like I was Flynn in _Tron. Ah, the power of the users..._

"Just a little parting gift," I explained.

(a day later: morning roll call)

"REPOOOOORT," Klink shouted as he exited the Kommandantur.

Even as the word escaped his lips, the Luftwaffe Colonel noticed the bare ground in front of Barracks Two. For a moment, he stood there on the porch, stunned.

_This has never happened before!_ he furiously thought.

His monocle then eyed the quivering Sergeant of the Guard. The silence from the compound only served to increase Klink's anger; he stepped off of the porch and quickly walked towards the soon-to-be-private.

"SCHUUULTZ!" he yelled. "Where are the prisoners from Barracks Two?" he demanded to know. "Where is Colonel Hogan?"

"_Herr Kommandant_," Schultz blubbered. "I beg…I beg to report that.." His voice trailed off into nothingness.

Klink stopped only inches from the nervous Sergeant. As usual, getting anything coherent out of the man was next to impossible.

The German Colonel shook his right fist in frustration. "Oh, SHUT UP!" he ordered, bypassing Schultz to find out the truth. As he neared the barracks door, it opened onto an impossible scene. For the second time that night, Klink's jaw dropped in shock.

Hogan, followed by a lady in a somewhat revealing silver costume, walked through the narrow doorway and onto the compound. The nearby guards both gaped and leered at the same time. _Just where did she come from? _they collectively wondered.

"Kommandant!" Hogan said, smiling. "Allow me to introduce Denise; she plays the third act at Trump Plaza in Atlantic City. Denise," he gestured, "this is Kommandant Klink."

"I'm pleased to meet you," the woman said, giving the German Colonel a sweet smile. "I understand I have you to thank for my meeting Robert...er, Colonel Hogan," she went on. "He told me you let him come see me perform at the Trump. He also told me how you gave him a backstage pass so he could meet me."

Klink, for his part, numbly shook her proffered hand; his lips flapped back and forth soundlessly as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"If you don't mind," Colonel Hogan continued. "I'd like to walk her home, maybe talk for a while, have a nightcap, and…well, sir," he said smugly, "you know how those things go. And…"

Denise leaned over and whispered something into Hogan's ear. To the amazement of the onlooking guards, much less the Kommandant, the American Colonel actually _blushed._

"That," he dryly commented, "may take a while. On the other hand, I'm _up _to it…"

"But how…" Klink stammered, finally finding his voice. "How…where…"

"That's a good question, Kommandant," Hogan said. "It all started with this guy and his laptop…"

[end scene]

:::end blooper reel:::

* * *

><p><em>AN: I really couldn't resist the idea of a blooper reel. Again, thanks to **ColHogan **for her speaking contribution! Annie…er, Denise…really did get her gun in this one. Or, at the very least, a pair of bird eagles… _

_Next: Chapter 12 - What Mob?_


	12. What Mob?

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

* * *

><p>Hello, and sorry for the late update! As always, thank you for reading andor leaving reviews. I've been dealing with some strained muscles in my left leg (painful); fortunately, the doctor was able to help me with that. To everyone that participated, thank you for letting me use your screen names; its been a lot of fun! Special thanks also go to **Sgt. Moffitt** for her role as the Kommandant of the Mob!

There were some funny reviews from the last chapter. For some reason, people didn't want to open their front doors that day. Can't imagine why:-) In case you missed it, I wanted to share a review that **Jinzle** left for me. It's modified on a character from Saturday Night Live and was too good to pass up. Here it is:

_Knock on door. _

_I try to dodge barking dog and kid crying to eat all the ice cream in the freezer._

_"Who is it?"_

_"Telegram."_

_"Who the hell sends telegrams? Tell the wacko to email me." _

_"Candygram."_

_"I'm diabetic." I cried, picking up the yet another Barbie shoe off the floor that I just stepped on._

_"Chippendale Dancer."_

_I drop kick the dog, throw a gallon of Rocky Road at the kid and race to the door. As I open it, I hear the voice on the other side of the door..._

_"Landshark!"_

Whenever I read this bit, I have a mental image of a woman leaping over a pile of laundry while frantically racing towards the door…

Disclaimer: They're coming to take me away, ha, ha…

Double disclaimer: If the world ends before I post this, then it was not my fault!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 12: What Mob?<strong>_

"Wow..." I breathed.

I was home.

Everything was just as I had left it. The popcorn was on the table, for instance. The TV was showing some tasteless movie about Justin Bieber. All was right with the world.

I retrieved my iPad from the office and tried to check my email. For some reason, my Internet and phone connection were down. Not a problem, though; I jacked the signal from my neighbor's wireless router to get online. Unfortunately, the bad luck continued to roll on. For some reason, I had 1,265,892 emails waiting to download.

_Say what?_

Frustrated, I then logged onto Facebook and found my account 'restricted' for everything except for basic housekeeping functions. I sighed heavily.

_Did the whole world go to hell over the weekend?_

On the other hand, there were some long-overdue things that I _could_ do. On a whim, I updated some of my Facebook info, including the photo, before I booted up the laptop. Once it was up and running, I began to back up iTunes and other assorted documents.

As the first DVD burned away, I walked out of the office and to the living room. After I found the remote to the TV, I switched it on and flipped the cable box to one of the local channels. Surprisingly, the female announcer was talking about, of all things, Hogan's Heroes:

_...and in the latest development in the Hogan's Heroes saga, Paramount Home Entertainment has confirmed that some of the affected DVD's have returned to normal. The company, citing legal issues, has refused to comment on the altered material. In a surprise move, CBS Home Video has also released a long-lost segment from the series that shows the characters in a relaxed moment. Here's the clip:_

_..."I take back everything I said about that chap," Newkirk said happily. The brunette he sat next to smiled as he handed her a glass of red wine. "Of course," he groused, "it would have been better if he had arranged some rooms while he was at it."_

_"He did," LeBeau interjected. Oddly, the woman he sat next to was a dead ringer for Marya. "We have rooms 210 through 214."_

_"Guys, I don't know if its such a good idea to fool around like this," said Carter. "I mean, we're the good guys! What-" Suddenly, the blonde sitting next to the American airman kissed him. It was a long while before either of them came up for air._

_"Now that's one way to shut him up," the Englishman observed amusedly before locking lips with his own date. There was a strange gleam in Carter's eyes when he finally resurfaced from the kiss. A look his commanding officer knew all too well._

_"Colonel?" he asked, all hesitance gone, "I'd like to requisition some of those, um, rubbers, sir. And a room key. Now."_

_Colonel Hogan laughed. "This, gentlemen," he announced, "is what's known as looking after your men." He dangled the requested items in front of the Sergeant, who quickly grabbed them. _

_As the enlisted man hustled his date towards the door, Hogan called out to him. "Remember, Carter," he warned, "you only have six hours before we need to head back to camp."_

_A pained expression appeared on the other man's face. "Just six hours, sir?" he complained, obviously wishing otherwise. Hogan nodded. As the American disappeared out the door, his best friend laughed._

_"Competition! That's all we need," the RAF corporal joked. "Soon, he'll be giving us tips."_

_"I'm a Frenchman," Lebeau said, then snorted. "I don't need 'tips'..." His voice trailed off as his date quietly whispered something into his ear. "I stand corrected," he softly murmured in surprise. He and his date collected their key and left._

_"Well, I'll be off meself," Newkirk said, standing up. "We English have a reputation to maintain, you know, against the French," he explained. "That's why they've lost all their wars. They believe in love. We, however," he added, "have bigger swords-"_

_"Will you just take the key and go, Newkirk?" Kinch interrupted, somewhat annoyed. His date, a gorgeous black bombshell, giggled. "I'd like to go to our own room," he said, throwing a glare at the Englishman. "If you don't mind."_

_Newkirk eyed the American Sergeant in annoyance for a moment, then chuckled. "You're too quiet, Kinch," he complained. "And just when I was getting warmed up!"_

_"If _you_ two don't mind," Hogan said, interrupting, "I'd like the chance to get warmed up myself." _

_Both men blushed. "Sorry, Colonel," they choursed. With keys in hand, they left the Colonel and his lady alone._

_"So who is this 80sarcades, Colonel?" his date purred. "A collegue? A friend, perhaps?"_

_Hogan smiled. "Just a nice guy that helped set up these visits," the American said. "He even arranged for us to have several nights out every month if we want. How does that sound to you?" _

_"Oh, darling," the blonde moaned. "It sounds wonderful!" Her hands moved down Hogan's hard chest before they stopped at his waistline. As she undid his belt..._

The clip ended; the screen returned to the normal news broadcast.

_"Unfortunately," the announcer continued, "the remaining portion of the clip is too graphic to be shown on TV. There has been some speculation as to how the segment avoided the network censors of that time. One theory argues that the clip is part of a 'gag reel' not meant to be seen by the viewing public. However, Richard Dawson and Robert Clary, both surviving cast members, have denied that this particular scene ever occurred."_

_"In a related story_," she went on, _"there has been rampant speculation that the '80sarcades' person mentioned in the clip might actually be-"_

I turned off the TV, utterly pleased with myself.

_Enjoy yourselves, guys_, I thought smilingly _You've earned it. And then some._

After consuming five DVD's, the backup was finally finished. As I put the discs away in a nearby cabinet, I noticed something decidedly _odd _about the computer screen. A hateful red eye glared at me from the desktop wallpaper. Puzzled, I stared at it.

_That's strange_, I thought, somewhat puzzled. _My Hello Kitty picture never looked that demonic! _Suddenly, an evil voice startled me as it oozed from the speakers:

"This isn't over, 80sarcades," it warned, spitting venom. "We will meet again!" I sighed, then rolled my eyes. _When does it ever stop with this guy?_

"Major Hochstetter," I spat. "I thought you were in some mental hospital somewhere. I was SO hoping that you were going through electroshock treatments right now. How'd you get out, anyway?"

"The Gestapo will never be beaten," the German said boastfully. "This isn't over. One way or another, I will win!"

_And he's right_, I realized_. I can't stop him from coming to this world. For starters, I don't even know how he does it! Some things are just beyond my control. However, there is something I can do._

"You know, I feel like a rock star," I casually commented. The eye narrowed in confusion as my right hand, unnoticed, slipped off to the side.

"What?" my opponent demanded.

"I am also _so _happy I backed up everything," I cheerfully went on. "It makes this so much easier..."

With that, I held up the Louisville Slugger in both hands and grinned manically. The eye image widened in shock before the voice returned, this time desperate:

"No! You can't!" it implored. "The power-"

"Say goodnight, Wolfie," I yelled before I lifted the bat above my head. As I swung it down, man roaring at the top of my lungs, I heard Hochstetter's voice scream "No!" again. Like I cared.

Computer keys and parts went flying as the bat impacted with plastic and metal. Strangely, the red dot on the screen was the last thing to go out before the plastic around it fragmented into pieces. A thin wisp of smoke hovered above the destroyed junk pile while I nodded in satisfaction.

_Take that!_

As I came down from my testosterone high, I heard what sounded like a distant rhythmic chant. At first, I dismissed it; my next door neighbor played some really weird stuff at times. Instead, I walked to the kitchen and fixed myself a stiff Scotch.

_And God, how I need it!_

By the time I came back from the kitchen, the sound was louder; this time, the chanting was almost clear enough to make out. I looked out the front window but saw nothing. Some kind of parade? I wondered.

Whatever it was, it was catchy. Almost familiar, somehow. An old sixties antiwar rhyme, but different. Suddenly, I could begin to make out the words. As they became clearer, my mind flashed back to when my laptop was returned...something about Hochstetter changing the DVD's...

_Uh, oh._

The singing was now easily understandable. As I looked out the window, I saw tons of people spilling onto my lawn with many more behind them. Some of the crowd held banners and signs; all of them looked deadly serious. As one, their voices belted out:

_"...Hey, hey, Eighties Arcades,_

_How many DVDs did you trash today?"_

Even the _sound _was causing the windows to vibrate. I stepped back from the glass and evaluated my options. Another glance through the blinds told me how limited those were.

_There's no way I can leave, _I quickly noted. _They've blocked off the garage! And I am _not _ruining the wax job on my car just to push through them! I've gotta get some help_, I decided._ The phone is out...my cellphone! _

I raced to the office, grabbed the little device, and dialed 911. Instantly, there was a response from a female operator.

"Nacogdoches 911, Sophia Villo speaking" she said politely. "What is the nature of your emergency?"

"Oh, thank goodness," I gushed. "Listen, I have a bloodthirsty mob outside. I need some help!"

"Not to worry, sir," she replied. "May I have your name and address, please?"

I gave it to her. The sounds of keyboard keys being pressed echoed through the phone line before her voice returned.

"Sir, I already have officers on the way," she said reassuringly. "They should be there within a few minutes."

"Oh, thank God!" I breathed in relief. "It's decent people like you that make a difference, you know..."

Just then, my police scanner - which had been relatively quiet up to this point- blared into life, cutting my words off. To my surprise, a familiar voice - the 911 operator's - sounded on the speaker.

_"Officers," _she began, _"please be advised that subject Arcades is in the residence at this time. Shoot to kill orders remain in effect, I repeat, remain in effect..."_

"Hey!" I interrupted angrily. "I thought 911 was supposed to help you! What is this?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said, unapologetically. "Your 911 service has been canceled. Have a nice day!" As the connection broke, I stared at the phone dumbly.

_Well, its official: I'm screwed! _

_But then again, maybe not, _I decided. _If they know who I am, then that also means they probably have my picture. Logically, the only one they would have is my driver's license picture. Fortunately, it was taken ten years ago, back when I was doing that whole hippie/goth thing..._

Just then, an ominous silence fell over the house as the chanting ceased. Suddenly, the front doorbell rang out. It was quickly followed by a quiet knocking sound. Obviously, someone was trying to be polite.

_Ah, the old Men At Work favorite: Who can it be now?_

I grabbed an old baseball cap and put it on my head before I walked to the front of the house. For a long moment, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. When I was ready, I opened the wooden door. If anything, the crowd outside seemed to stretch into infinity. The names of the Heroes were stenciled on various banners held up by the mob. Vendors worked the gathering, selling everything from bottled water to...

"...Pitchforks and torches!" a rough faced man nasally yelled. "You can't have a lynching without a pitchfork and torch! Only $29.99 for a combo deal...thank you, sir, here's your change. Pitchforks..."

My eyes broke away from the crowd and onto the three people standing before me at the door. All of them - and so did the rest of the crowd, I noted - wore colorful nametags on their pockets. The first one wore a tag with the name EL GRINGO LOCO and was carrying…

…_a Ferengi walking stick? Now that's just crazy!_

The second one was dressed in a conservative business outfit. Unlike the other members of the mob, she was unarmed save for a serious expression on her face. Instead, she carried a leather folio cradled underneath her left arm. Her name, or so her tag said, was CHOPSTICK LEGEND.

The third member of the group was obviously the leader of the bunch. The giveaway, strangely enough, was a Luftwaffe Officer's uniform cap perched on top of her head. Otherwise, the rest of her outfit was the standard Army Combat Uniform. Master Sergeant's stripes decorated her sleeves; an old AR-15 rifle, slung across her shoulder, completed the ensemble. On her front pocket was a colorful tag that read:

_Hi! I'm part of the mob_

_My name is_

_SGT. MOFFITT_

"Hi," she said politely. "Would you happen to be 80sarcades?"

Given the circumstances, I did what any red-blooded American would do when faced by a bloodthirsty mob.

And yes, I did lie. Convincingly.

I shook my head. "No, I'm not," my voice loudly announced in a fake redneck accent. "However, he did hire me to look after his house. Are you that mob from the TV?," I gushingly asked, a goofy grin appearing on my face. "This is so cool!"

Meanwhile, the crowd groaned as the bad news spread. Inwardly, I felt like grinning. _Suckers!_

"Hey, if you guys want something to drink, you're perfectly welcome to raid his fridge," I continued. "Not that there's much there, anyway." I then looked curiously at the character with the walking stick. "Not to be nosy, or anything," I asked, "but what's your story? How'd you get involved with this bunch?"

"Actually, I'm just here to serve Mr. Arcades with a congressional subpoena," Loco explained, then smiled evilly. "Kind of jumped at the chance to riot and get paid for it!"

"Uh, huh…" I said, nodding, before turning my head to the second figure. "And you?"

"I'm from Amnesty International," the woman declared in an Australian accent. "We're here as observers."

I raised an eyebrow. "So you're here to protect 80sarcades?" I asked, confused.

"Of course not!" she said. "Who cares about that? No, we just want to make sure no one violates the human rights of the mob." I gave her a disgusted look.

_Mental Note: __ask for my donations back. Plus interest. Failing that, slash their tires._

"Obviously, you're Sergeant Moffitt," I said, turning to the third member. To my utter relief, she was comparing the picture from my driver's license to me and coming up blank. Behind her I could see other mob members with tags - namely, Hogan Macgyver, Jinzle, ColHogan, Canadian Hogan's Fan, Snooky-9093, Justalittlehhfan, Marie1964, Bits and Pieces, and Crystal Rose of Pollux - waiting at the ready with various weapons in their hands.

Oddly, the last four were holding some kind of strange white device in their hands. Each of their thumbs was poised over a little red button on the top side of the object they held. My right eyebrow raised in curiosity.

_Wonder what that's all about?_

A dejected look came over Moffitt's face as she finally realized that I wasn't her target. "I'm sorry for the trouble," she explained. "Do you have any idea where 80sarcades is?"

"He just packed up, threw me his keys, and asked me to take care of his house," I explained. Suddenly, I had a _Doctor Who_ moment. My mind began to come up with a plan.

"Actually, he did leave me something," my voice confided. "Thought it was pretty silly when he told me about it, but if it'll help you…" My voice trailed off as Moffitt's eyes lit up in excitement. Fortunately, the table by the door had an envelope on it. It actually contained a letter protesting my property taxes. Not that anyone else knew that.

My fingers ripped the letter open and withdrew a sheet of paper. "This is what he wanted me to say if anyone showed up," I explained. "Here, let me read it out to you…"

Moffitt raised her hand to stop me. "Just a minute," she ordered. The Kommandant then turned around towards the mob and raised her hands for silence. Another hand handed her a megaphone that she raised to her lips.

"80sarcades is not here," she bluntly confirmed to the crowd. In response, the mob booed and jeered before she raised her hand again. "That coward can run, but there is nowhere he can hide from us!," her amplified voice roared, working the crowd. "We will find him, and have our revenge!"

This time, the mob roared its wholehearted approval. Honestly, I was jealous. Memories of being part of a mob came to the fore in my mind. Savoring the emotional bloodlust as you tracked your prey down, closing in for the kill…

I shook the thoughts away. This was _me_ we were talking about, not some census worker!

"This poor man," Moffitt continued, gesturing towards me, "has a message from 80sarcades! Let's hear what that scum sucking garbage maggot had to say before he ran away!"

With that, Sgt. Moffitt pumped her fist in the air to more cheers and applause. When the Kommandant was finished, she handed the megaphone over to my waiting hand. I unclenched my teeth and looked at the document in my hand before drawing in a deep breath.

_Now, to throw these drooling wolves off track…_

"I, 80sarcades, have fled the country..." I began.

The crowd booed; I continued on.

"At the invitation of Hugo Chavez, the illustrious and most honorable President of Venezuela, I have traveled to that country to take up permanent residence. There, I will join my newfound comrades in their valiant struggle against American imperialism-"

"Hey," a woman yelled. "I'm on 80sarcades' Facebook page. He's updated his photo!"

_Oops._

"That's him!" she shrieked, pointing at me wildly. "THAT'S 80SARCADES!"

"GET HIM!" another voice screamed.

The crowd surged forward. Fortunately, I was able to avoid Sgt. Moffitt's less-than-friendly punch as I ducked back into the house. With a mighty heave, I slammed the door shut and secured it. The sounds of shattering glass echoed throughout the house as the mob began to break the surrounding windows.

Just then, one of the wood panels on top of the door _exploded_ into pieces. Gathering my courage, I peered through the hole and watched Sgt. Moffitt's foot lash out and disintegrate another panel. Belatedly, I recalled that she was some sort of black belt.

At that moment, she saw me. Luckily, her crazed eyes telegraphed her next move. Her fist was already rearing back by the time my hand slammed on the red button next to the door.

Within two seconds, hidden steel panels dropped down to cover all of the exits and windows. My grin of relief was erased as the perfect _outline_ of a steel fist suddenly protruded into the metal door along with the sound of a dull thud. My eyes stared at it in shock; to be honest, I've only seen that happen in cartoons!

_So much for my comeuppance!_

_My wife thought I was mad when I had those steel panels installed_, I thought. _She didn't believe me when I told her we needed to keep out the bill collectors, in-laws, and other pests._

_Well, who's laughing now?_

I started to race upstairs and for the pot of bubbling oil I kept for just such an occasion. As I passed by the couch, I bumped it; the remote on top of the cushion fell to the floor and accidentally activated the TV. The local news channel was still on, this time with a helicopter showing a different view. Specifically, my house surrounded by mob ants:

"…_apparently, the mob has cornered 80sarcades and is trying to force his surrender. The alleged Al-Qaeda advisor has been particularly hard to track down. Our sources indicate that he may have slipped back into the country from the Middle East several days ago. Jim, can you tell us what the current odds are?"_

_The picture changed to a split screen. One half showed the house - with the mob trying to break in - and the other showed a man sitting behind an anchor desk. He smiled into the camera, then quickly checked a list. "Sara," he said, "our current odds are actually pretty enticing. Right now, it's twelve hundred to one that he'll actually come through this intact, 650 to one that his remains will actually be identifiable, and 100 to one that he'll escape and run at least a hundred feet before the mob brings him down."_

"_These odds," he went on, "are brought to you by both Sam's Town and Lucky Jacks casinos. If you're 21 or over and would like to place a bet, call 1-866-WHACK-80S…"_

I leveled the pistol at the TV and pulled the trigger. For some reason, blasting a hole through the screen was less than satisfying. To be honest, I'd rather have knocked that news chopper out of the sky. If only I hadn't traded my only Stinger missile to that group of Boy Scouts…

At that moment, I remembered that the cauldron of oil and its holder were gone. Several weeks ago, my Homeowners Association threatened me with a lawsuit in order to force its removal from the roof. With stunning clarity, my mind recalled the flowery language used in the original threatening letter.

_Nonconducive to proper neighborhood relations, my bleep! Oh, wait…I can swear now…_

With no other option, I raced for the armory. Hopefully, the M240 Bravo I kept there would be more than enough-

My right foot slipped on a toy belonging to my three year old. In an instant, my world went spinning just before I crashed to the floor.

At that moment, I blacked out.

* * *

><p><em>The last cliffhanger! And you thought I would get beat up in this one! Bah! That's the next (and last) chapter.<em>

_As always, thank you for reading!_

_Next: Chapter 13 - As the Luck Turns…_


	13. As the Luck Turns

_**The Return of Hochstetter (or: How the Major Successfully Failed, Act III)**_  
><em><strong>by 80sarcades<strong>_

* * *

><p>Welcome back to the last chapter! As usual, thank you for reading and orreviewing!

Special note: for those of you who PM'd asking for a date with Colonel Hogan (Chapter 11), I'm sorry to inform you that I won't be able to grant your request. The Hogan Delivery Team has been unable to remove the dreamy smile from the Colonel's face ever since his last date. Can't imagine why:-)

BTW: If anyone wants to 'visit' this universe - either through a malfunctioning computer or other means - by all means, have fun with it. Believe it or not, the original chapter was two pages long. As usual, I couldn't resist throwing in a few more items.

Disclaimer: At least my health insurance will get a good workout in this one!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 13 - As the Luck Turns…<strong>_

"Get up!" my wife's voice demanded.

I slowly blinked my eyes as reality returned. My wife and daughter - both wearing serious expressions - stood by the bed looking down at me.

"It was all a dream..." I breathed in relief. "It was so cool! You weren't there, obviously, but Hochstetter was! And so was Hogan, and Carter too..."

"Ahem," my wife growled, interrupting me. "How many times have I told you not to fall asleep watching one of your Hogan's Heroes DVD's?"

I was taken aback at the sudden vehemence in her voice. "But, Angie..," I began, confused. My voice broke off when I noticed the leather whip in her left hand. _Where the heck did that come from?_ I wondered.

"I don't want to hear it!" she said, her tone full of ice. "First, I leave you a list of chores to do for the weekend. None of them have been done! And now, you have to hurry up and finish them plus wash the dirty clothes from our trip. I also need my fingernails painted, too!"

The glare from her eyes made me literally cringe back into the pillow. Just then, the index finger of her right hand came up and pointed towards the other side of the house. "So get to it," she firmly commanded.

Needless to say, I was stunned at the change in my wife's normally placid behavior. My mouth, of course, was just as shocked.

"But dear," I complained, somewhat lamely, "You didn't leave a list..."

She held up a sheet of paper. To my horror, the thin surface was covered with a list of chores in small point type. Two columns worth, specifically.

"If you don't want to sleep outside, you'd better get it done tonight!" she warned. "And I need a back massage, too; it was a long drive home!"

"But...honey…dear," I sputtered, my eyes blinking rapidly in surprise.

"BAH!" she roared. She then turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

My daughter, who had been silently watching the whole exchange, then imitated her mom.

"BAH!" she shouted, then ran out. I raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Bah?" I repeated, letting the word roll off my tongue. _Just what the hell is going on?_ Suddenly, my eyes were drawn to a book on my wife's nightstand. Specifically, to the picture on the front cover.

_Oh, no..._

The words in the title were frightening enough:

_**MARRIED LIFE, THE GESTAPO WAY: A Woman's Practical Guide To Marriage!**_  
><em><strong>Make your 'hubby do' into a 'hubby better do it'...or else!<strong>_

_**Easy tips, tricks, and hints included to help you become the Queen you deserve to be!**_

_**Now expanded, with a special forward from the author**_  
><em><strong>W.A. Hochstetter<strong>_

_**The runaway New York Times bestseller! Recently featured on Oprah's Book Club…**_

I picked up the book. Sure enough, Hochstetter's photo - the man was even wearing an expensive Armani suit! - looked up at me from the lower left hand corner. The smile on the image was utterly, if not revoltingly, smug in victory.

_So that's what he meant when he said he won the war!_

_Lets get this straight: Hochstetter loses, yet comes out as a best selling - and probably stinking rich - author. The Heroes get the ladies I left for them, and I get the-_

My wife's voice broke my confused thoughts.

"Will you stop screwing around up there?" she yelled. "That list isn't going to do itself, you know!"

I groaned in frustration. At that moment, the doorbell rang.

"AND GET THE DOOR!" her voice screamed.

My voice grumbled several unpleasant - but very quiet - words as I made my way towards the front of the house. _Just wait until I get a new computer from ACME_, I vowed. _Oh, the revenge I could plan…_

_Yup, here's a good story line: Hochstetter is hot on Hogan's trail when he blunders into a sewer and gets stuck for a few days. Then, I'll write one where he gets court-martialed and sent to a chain gang..._

My mind was still crafting detailed revenge on the Major by the time I reached the front hallway. As I opened the door, I suddenly realized that I had forgotten the other part of my 'dream.' Too late.

Before I could react, several people standing outside quickly grabbed me and pulled my body through the opening. Another hand closed the door; the thick wood muted my cries to anyone standing inside:

:::begin torture reel:::

* * *

><p>…Oh, hey, Sgt. Moffitt! You know, your hair looks really wonderful tonight! I- [whack] OW! No, wait! [whack] O! AHHH! OW! [whack slap whack]... My arm!…[punch]...<p>

* * *

><p>...Oh, officers, thank goodness you're here!...I…[whack] OWWWW! STOP! Not the police batons! [whack punch whack]...That's not fair! You shouldn't give the crowd pointers [whack]...<p>

* * *

><p>[swooshing sound, followed by another right behind it] Flamethrowers? Just what kind of sick people are you? [Another swooshing sound occurs; the target dodges the stream of flame] Ah, ha! You missed! [Still another sound, followed by a laugh] You've missed again, jerk! I've…wait, who has the flame-broiled whopper? [80sarcades looks down to see burned skin] Oh, my God! That's me! AAH! [eyes suddenly turn dreamy] Mmmmm…whopper [drools]<p>

* * *

><p>…Father, thank God! They're gonna kill me; can't you do something? [Catholic priest kneels, mutters prayer. As he does so, my eyes look up in shock] The Last Rites! Hey! I'm not dead yet…<p>

* * *

><p>...Can't we (snifflesob) all just get along?…[whackwhackwhackwhackwhack]...

* * *

><p>[mumbles incoherently] Is there a doctor in the house? I need a doctor…<p>

"I'll save you!" a man in a white coat shouted before rushing to my side. "Stand back!" he ordered the crowd. "I'm a doctor!"

"Oh, thank God," I mumbled thankfully. "Finally, someone who's sane!"

"Oh, thank God," Sgt. Moffitt muttered. "Someone who can patch him up! We're not finished yet!"

"Just relax," the man said. "I'm Doctor Hyde. Let me set up an IV drip…"

[Quick as a flash, a metal rod is set up while the crowd watches, curious. Bags of fluids hang on hooks protruding from the top of the metal shaft]

"We'll start you off with some sodium thiopental," Dr. Hyde soothingly said as he inserted a needle into my left arm. "Then, we'll throw in some pancuronium bromide to relax you before I administer the last drug, potassium chloride…"

"Excuse me, Doc," I said, interrupting his speech. "Forgive me for being curious, but what kind of doctor are you?"

"Oh, sorry," the man said. "I work in Huntsville for the Texas prison system. You're pretty lucky I'm here; I was on my way to execute a prisoner with these drugs. I promise, it won't hurt…"

"Oh, hell no!" I exclaimed. With my remaining strength, I yanked the needle out of my arm and threw it towards him. "Get away from me," I spat. "I'd rather take my chances with the mob…"

At that moment, I looked at the assembled members of the mob before swallowing heavily. "Uh, Doc," I began, "any way I can get those drugs flavored? Say, with a little Vodka?"

"Sorry, against the rules," he told me, a miffed look on his face.

I groaned.

* * *

><p>[Mob members continue to beat up on 80sarcades. Suddenly a loud, repetitive <em>vworp<em> sound ripples through the atmosphere. As the crowd leaps back in surprise, a tall blue-colored box with a light on top materializes out of thin air and solidifies next to the unfortunate, but good-looking, victim]

[Strangely, the structure looks like an old British police call box. At that moment, the door on the box opens. A man, wearing a jacket and bowtie, appears at the opening and looks around at the assorted members]

"Oh, what's this?" the man said. "And what are you up to?"

"And what's your name?" Sgt. Moffitt demanded to know.

"I'm the Doctor!" the man said happily. "And really, do you start off all your conversations that way?"

"Doctor Who?" Moffitt continued, unfazed.

"Exactly!" the Doctor exclaimed, a goofy grin on his face. I waved my single unbroken hand upward, trying to catch the alien's attention.

"Oh, Doctor," I moaned, working the words past my shattered ribs, "You've gotta help me! They're all crazy! They're gonna kill me!"

The Doctor merely shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry about that," he said, shaking his head. "I'll do a lot for the human race, but you're on your own!"

"What?" I sputtered.

"Well, I'm off!" he yelled, ignoring my plea for help. At that moment, the Doctor flashed an insane grin at me. "Ha, ha, and away!" the man ecstatically cried out. With a quick motion, he disappeared into the police box.

Within ten seconds, the TARDIS began to disappear into nothingness. "No…" I breathed. Meanwhile, the crowd recovered and started to move in for the kill. "Come back!" I angrily shouted after the Doctor. "David Tennant would have helped me! And the whole bowtie thing SUCKS!"

Just then, I noticed the sky above me darken ominously as the mob closed in. Involuntarily, I cringed.

"Heh…heh," I lamely laughed, trying to sound funny. "Didn't know you all liked Matt Smith. Seriously, I was just kidding about the whole bowtie thing…"

* * *

><p>[The crowd continues on the magical-mystery-conga-line-beat-80sarcades-up-tour. Suddenly, a silence descends on the mob members as the victim is picked up by various hands and propelled towards a makeshift stage. The dazed, confused, and broken, yet still devilishly handsome, sacrifice gasps in utter horror at his true fate]<p>

...wait... No…Not That! ANYTHING BUT THAT! PLEASE! THAT"S INHUMANE!…NO! NOT MICHAEL BOLTON! NOT SUSAN BOYLE!

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T HAVE THEM SING TOGETHER! NOT A DUET! NOOOOOOOO!

...AAIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!...

:::end torture reel:::

[fin/ende]

* * *

><p>:::begin credit reel:::<p>

_**THE RETURN OF HOCHSTETTER!**_

**STARRING:** The Heroes (Colonel Hogan, Sergeant Kinchloe, Corporal Newkirk, Corporal LeBeau, and Sergeant Carter)

The Germans: Sergeant Schultz, and Colonel Klink

**…AND THE REST OF THE CAST:**

(in alphabetical sideways reversed sequential normal order based on ego)

80sarcades**...**as himself

Sgt. Moffitt**...**second billing, and the Mob Kommandant!

Major Wolfgang Amadeus Hochstetter**...**saying it once was enough.

Bits and Pieces**...**as herself

Canadian Hogan's Fan**...**as herself

Chopstick Legend**...**etcetera

ColHogan**...**ditto

Crystal Rose of Pollux**…**see above

El Gringo Loco**…**Finally! A man!

Hogan Macgyver**…**herself

Jinzle**…**a lady (theoretically)

Justalittlehhfan**…**ad infinitum

Marie1964**...**Obviously!

Snooky-9093**...**Another one!

Sophia Villo**…**whew! Running out of ways to say 'herself'!

Also co-starring: Thousands of imaginary mob members, all unpaid volunteers!

Camera Crew**…**none! (Couldn't afford 'em anyway)

Set Crew**…**grilled medium rare, sprinkled with seasoning salt. Delicious!

WAC Uniform Fitter**…**Sheila Hochstetter

WAC Lingerie**…**Can I keep it?

WAC Bra Fitter**…**Shirley DeHoldup

Health services provided by**…**Chaps Bar-B-Q and Medical Triage

Clothing provided by**…**the all-star team at Goodwill!

SS extras furnished by**...**Nazis 'R Us.

Prophylactic Producer**...**Peter Pecker

Laptop provided by**...**ACME corporation. Ask for the speedy 'Wile E. Coyote' delivery option.

Bomb delivered by Foghorn Leghorn in Chapter 11**...**well, I never liked him anyway.

Whip furnished to 80sarcades' wife by**...**Wendy's Whip & Adult Toy Emporium

Second Assistant to the Assistant Producer distantly related to my wife's third college roommate and married to my first cousin's  
>third wife in a quickie marriage at Las Vegas<strong>...<strong>Cheatum 'Lucky' Goode

Gestapo cell wrangler**...**Marquis De Sade

Tunnel lighting provided by**...**used beer cans

Near-Beer provided by**...**Big Flats Beer (a real beer, BTW:-)

Bleeping services by**...**those !&%!$&*#%*! network censors

Blooper reel development and production**...**by my second and fifth personalities

Hochstetter's performance of 'Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin'**...C**horal Recording Elocution Expert Performers of Youngstown

GoSlicer9000 flamethrower attachment**...**what the hell was I thinking?

Machete for Jinzle**...**REALLY bad idea

Winner of the Armed Forces melee**...**the uninvited Coast Guard! (Really didn't want to beat up on them anyway)

No estrogen was harmed in the making of this story

If you've read this far, then you've probably paid too much for car insurance!

If you've read this far, then the world hasn't ended. Keep paying your mortgage/rent until further notice.

Copyright MMXI. All rights freely given. I'm also sure there were more than a few lefties in the mob, too…

Gambling Problems? Dial **1-877-770-7867**

U.S. Government Debt Problems? Dial **1-888-CHINA-LOAN**

All screen names used are the property of their respective owners. All fictional characters bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead. Looney Toons characters are the property of Warner Brothers. Major Hochstetter still has bad breath.

Production of this story supervised by Tom, the Cat. With a 'C'.

If interested in contributing to the _'80sarcades Major Medical Expense and/or Funeral Fund'_, please fill out the review card in the lobby.

Filmed entirely on location in Texas. We were too cheap to go anywhere else.

* * *

><p>:::scene cuts to interior of house. A woman's hand picks up the handset of a phone before punching in a number. The other end rings, then clicks open to female tones:::<p>

"Hello, and welcome to the ACME Corporation," the recorded voice began. "If you would like to hear English, press 1."

[A finger presses the requested number. The voice pauses, then returns.]

"If you are a Looney Toons character, please press 2. If you are human, please press 3."

[The woman, now annoyed, punches at the third number on the keypad. After a moment, the voice reappears.]

"If you're calling for technical support with explosive items, please press 4," the voice said, continuing its canned speech. "If you're calling for technical support for mechanical items, press 5. If your device went off and you're stuck in the ceiling or floor, hang up and call 911. If your ACME-brand railroad engine has a mind of its own, press 6. If-"

[A slim finger presses '0' repeatedly until the number comes loose from the keypad. Suddenly, a man's voice appears on the line. Moffitt sighs in relief.]

"Hi, and welcome to our customer service line," the automated speech cheerfully began. "Due to higher-than-normal call volumes, your call may be delayed by several minutes. You are currently number five on our hold list. Please allow our operators time to finish helping other customers, eating their lunches, and doing their personal shopping on the Home Shopping Network. We'll be right with you!"

[The theme from the game show Jeopardy starts, then repeats. Moffitt grips the handset tightly and softly _growls_ to herself. Suddenly, a woman's voice - this time a real one - cuts the music off.]

"ACME customer service," she said in a upbeat tone. "This is Gina; how may I help you?"

"Oh, good," Sgt. Moffitt said, relieved. "Listen, I understand that you sell 'special' laptops..."

"Yes ma'am, we do," Gina affirmed. "Was there a particular kind you were searching for?"

"Actually, yes," the Sergeant replied. "I was looking for one that could alter reality. For example, I could write a story where a fictional character comes to life. Or, alternatively, put a ex-husband in a dress while he's at work. Something like that."

"Just a moment," the operator said. The sounds of clicking keys could be heard through the open connection.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Gina's voice said apologetically. "A number of fanfic authors have already purchased that model. According to my records, we just sold the last one to someone called Bits and Pieces. I'm not sure when we're going to receive a new shipment; I can call-" Her voice broke off suddenly, then returned. "What did you say your name was again, ma'am?"

"Sgt. Moffitt," the other woman replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the operator gushed, apologetic. "You're that Kommandant from Hogan's Mob! This is such an honor!" Her voice then lowered to a confidential tone. "Actually, we do have one laptop left," she quietly confided. "If I could get a credit card number, I could send it out to you today."

"Thank you," Moffitt said sweetly. With a quick motion, she sat the handset down and ran for her purse. Makeup, lipstick, mace, brass knuckles, and other assorted items went flying before her hand triumphantly produced a wallet. Ten seconds later, card in hand, she returned to the phone. "I have the card," she announced proudly. "Visa. And I'm also supposed to ask for the Wile E. Coyote delivery option…"

"Not a problem," Gina said. "Let me take care of that for you…"

[Several minutes later]

"Okay, your payment has been processed," Gina confirmed. "Your laptop is on its way and should be there shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Nothing I can think of," Moffitt said.

"Thank you for calling the ACME Corporation! Have a nice day!" the operator said, then clicked off. At that moment, the doorbell rang.

_Who can it be now?_

Mindful of her earlier experience with 'deliveries' - she had no desire to be blown up, much see any strange roosters - she approached the front door and looked through the recently repaired side glass. A tall coyote with brown and tan fur stood there with a package. Just then, he noticed her presence and held up a sign:

YOUR LAPTOP

Sgt. Moffitt breathed a sigh of relief before opening the door. She threw a smile towards the coyote while her hands collected the laptop. Before she could close the door, Wile E. produced another sign.

TIP?

Moffitt rolled her eyes, pulled two dollars out of her pocket, and thrust it into the animal's outstretched paw. Wile E. looked at the money in disgust, then glared at the human. Another placard - _where the heck does he keep them?_ she wondered - appeared out of nowhere.

CHEAPSKATE!

With that, he angrily stomped off. Moffitt eyed the retreating figure with narrowed eyes. _Just who does he think he is?_

"Loser," she muttered. As she moved to close the door, a yellow bird fluttered inside the house. Unlike regular birds, this one spoke, saying "Save me! Save me!"

_Now what?_

Suddenly, the door was roughly pushed open from the outside. Startled, Moffitt flew backward into a nearby wall while a black and white cat ran inside the house. For a long moment, he eyed the flying avian. "There's no escape for you, bird," he growled menacingly. For her part, the Sergeant recovered quickly.

"All of you," she shouted, pointing wildly, "out of my house! Now!" She reached for a nearby broom, grabbed it, and started to wave it around. "Get out of my…"

Her words trailed off as the cat produced a green metal tube from out of nowhere. With a quick motion, he expanded it, put it to his shoulder, and aimed it at his target. Tweety Bird's eyes widened in alarm.

"I tawt I taw a puddy tat!" the yellow bird began. "Wit a LAW!"

"Oh, bleep," Moffitt swore, then dove for the floor in the nearby living room. At that moment, Sylvester fired his weapon.

The back blast from the M72A4 Light Anti-Tank Weapon shattered the side windows next to the entrance. The open door flew backward and savagely _slammed_ against the inside wall before the hinges, stressed beyond breaking, gave way. With a final groan, the door tore away from the frame and fell to the floor with a resounding crash. Pieces of drywall and other assorted loose objects started to burn merrily.

Meanwhile, the rocket from the front of the launcher sailed down the hallway, missing its target entirely, before it met up with a section of drywall. The projectile punched through the thin material and traveled into the next room before its warhead finally struck a solid object. Although the resulting explosion was relatively small compared to heavier weapons, it was more than enough to cause significant damage to the bedroom.

With her ears still ringing, Sgt. Moffitt shook her head and coughed several times before she finally stood up. As she did so, she heard a intact Tweety Bird loudly sing out, "I did! I did taw a puddy tat! And he missed!"

"Why, you…" Sylvester the Cat sputtered angrily, literally spitting the words out. Without warning, the cat lunged forward and _leaped_ into the air to catch the fluttering bird. As usual, Sylvester came up short; the feline missed and fell heavily to the carpet. Growling at the bird's taunt of failure, he picked himself up in enough time to see Tweety flutter into the shattered bedroom. With a snarl, he took off after it. Within a minute, both adversaries were gone for good. The owner of the house coughed again before her eyes reluctantly surveyed the damage. Fortunately, a nearby fire extinguisher put out the small fires in both the entry hallway and bedroom.

It was then that she remembered the computer. Suddenly, her worries were over.

_First things first: I'll use it to fix up the house, she thought. And then…_

Moffitt didn't know what would happen after that. At the very least, she would have fun. And then some.

The laptop box was still on the living room floor. Within five minutes, she had the computer plugged in and started up. Instead of the usual cheesy Windows wallpaper, however, a text message popped up. One that was addressed to her.

_You have got to be kidding…,_ she thought, unable to believe the words.

_Kommandant Moffitt-_

_Just wanted to let you know that I now control 51% of the ACME Corporation. It also allows me to pass certain benefits along._

_Enjoy,_

_80s_

Just then, Moffitt heard a _hissing_ sound coming from the computer. Puzzled, she looked at the laptop, then all around it. Nothing seemed wrong, but the sound was certainly familiar. On an impulse, she looked at the bottom of the computer. Her eyes bugged out at the sight of a red cylinder embedded in the plastic; there was writing on it:

_**ACME Orbital!**_  
><em><strong>Guaranteed to put your friend in orbit or your money back!<strong>_  
><em><strong>Novelty use only. Not for oral use.<strong>_

The fuse, sputtering, was already retreating into the cylinder.

"Oh, sh-" Sgt. Moffitt began.

At that moment, the bomb exploded.

_[cut to Fox News Channel, two hours later]_

_…and in a related news story, NASA has confirmed that a house with an irate woman inside is now in low Earth orbit. Experts at the space agency are baffled as to how the structure or its occupant, identified only by her fanfiction dot net screen name of Sgt. Moffitt, happen to be there. At this hour, NASA has also confirmed that a rescue mission to save her will have to wait until the last shuttle launch in July. As a spokesman bluntly put it: "If she got up there, then she can come back down on her own. We'll wait and see what happens."_

_In other news…_

* * *

><p>:::scene cuts to a local watering hole:::<p>

[Wolfgang Hochstetter and 80sarcades sit at the bar. Both men are obviously drunk. As one, they hold up beer mugs and sing:]

_Closing Time!_

_One last call for alcohol, so finish your whiskey or beer_

_Closing Time!_

_You don't have to go home but you can't stay here…_

"We're closing up, gentlemen," the bartender announced, interrupting the chorus. "You still owe $32.50."

"Pay the man, 80s," Hochstetter ordered. "It's your turn." I sighed and ponied up two Jacksons for a Lincoln and several Washingtons. Just then two gorgeous women - one a blonde, the other a redhead -walked up to us. Naturally, we both sobered up instantly. Or tried to.

"Aren't you that Major Hochstetter from that movie…what was that movie, Janice?" the blonde asked her friend.

"The Return of Hochstetter," her companion said.

"Oh! Right!" the first lady exclaimed before extending her hand out to the Major. Instead of shaking the hand, he kissed it; both women giggled. "I'm Daphne, and this is Janice," the woman continued, introducing themselves. "We really liked that movie! I know the bar is about to close, but we're on our way to a club. Would you like to join us?"

"Why not?" Hochstetter agreed. "I'd be happy to." At that moment, I spoke up.

"Hi, I'm 80sarcades," I began, then tilted my head towards the Major. "I was his co-star in that movie. Care if I tag along?"

Daphne gave me a quizzical look, then looked at her friend in confusion. "Who?" she finally asked.

"80sarcades," I repeated. "You know. The guy that wore the WAC dress? Got beat up by the mob..." I said, trying to juggle her memory.

The blonde shook her head, then ignored me. Unfortunately for me, the redhead did the same. "Our car is just down the street," Daphne purred, looking at Hochstetter again. "_And_, I know the guy at the door. Not to mention that I can get free drinks…"

Hochstetter threw me a leering smile as Daphne prattled on. I sighed wistfully as I watched the threesome head out the door. _Ah, well_, I thought sourly. _I did have chores, anyway..._

Just then, I noted the camera staring at me from the other side of the now-empty establishment. I groaned.

_It's official! My wife is going to kill me! And not just for the booze, either!_

_And that's the last time I put the Major's name in any title! I may not look like a Greek god, but at the very least those ladies could have given me the time of day. A man's ego is a sensitive thing!_

"Can I have the remote to the TV, please?" I asked the bartender.

"We're closing," he said flatly. I laid a ten on the bar.

"Indulge me," I said. Without another word, he smoothly took the bill and replaced it with a plastic remote. I picked it up, then turned around to face the camera with a grin.

"Well, folks," I began, "I'm glad you've stayed with us, but it's time to go home. Of course, if you're reading this, you're probably already _at_ home. Just remember: be sure to help control the pet population. Have your pets spayed or neutered…"

"Just who are you talking to?" the bartender demanded. I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows.

"Sorrry, man," I said. "Just channeling Bob Barker. Always did love The Price Is Right."

I then turned back to the camera. "This whole story has been a pleasure…," I smilingly began. Just then, a pig with a red bowtie and blue coat stumbled out of the bathroom, obviously drunk. Somehow, his loopy eyes noticed the glass lens; he stopped and waved.

"Th-Th-Thhhattt's allll, foolllksss…" the pig said, slurring his words. At that moment, his eyes rolled back in his head before he passed out, his body slumping to the floor.

"What he said," I remarked casually, shrugging my shoulders. "Have a good night!" As I said the words, my finger thumbed a switch on the remote.

Instantly, the TV behind the bar turned on. I cursed my stray thumb even as a Looney Toons cartoon appeared onscreen; the music from the end of the feature echoed throughout the bar. The bartender glared at me with annoyed eyes.

"Sorry about that," I apologized, then looked at the remote. With a grin on my face, my eyes then glanced charmingly into the camera lens.

"Night!" I called. At that instant, my finger pressed the 'story end' button.

:::screen fades to black:::

[fin/ende redux]

* * *

><p>AN: Michael Bolton was/is a singer. To me, at least, he's awful. Closing Time is a song by the band _Semisonic._

As always, thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.


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